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THE WARRIOR MAID 




JOAN OF ARC 



TbeWmiirc Mai 






By Lucy Foster iviaai 

author of "The Peggy Owen Books" 




Witt) lEusttatttms & Decorations bp 

Frank E Schoonover 




1 TtjcPttra 






COPYRIGHT 
19 18 BY 

THE PENN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 




V 22 !9i8 



Joan of Arc 



©GU506 




INTRODUCTION 

In presenting this story for the young the writer has en- 
deavored to give a vivid and accurate life of Jeanne D'Arc 
(Joan of Arc) as simply told as possible. There has been no 
pretence toward keeping to the speech of the Fifteenth Cen- 
tury, which is too archaic to be rendered literally for young 
readers, although for the most part the words of the Maid 
have been given verbatim. 

The name of this wonderful girl has been variously written. 
In the Fifteenth Century the name of the beloved disciple was 
preferred for children above all others; so we find numerous 
Jeans and Jeannes. To render these holy names more in keep- 
ing with the helplessness of little ones the diminutive forms of 
Jeannot and Jeannette were given them. So this girl was 
named Jeannette, or Jehannette in the old spelling, and so she 
was called in her native village. By her own account this was 
changed to Jeanne when she came into France. The English 
translation of Jeanne D'Arc is Joan of Arc; more properly 
it should be Joanna. Because it seems more beautiful to her 
than the others the writer has retained the name of Jeanne 
in her narrative. 



INTRODUCTION 

It is a mooted question which form of the name of Jeanne's 
father is correct: D'Arc or Dare. It is the writer's belief 
that D'Arc was the original writing, when it would follow that 
Jacques D'Arc would be James of the Bow or James Bowman, 
as he would have been called had he been an English peasant. 
For this reason the Maid's surname has been given as D'Arc; 
though there are many who claim that Dare is the nearest the 
truth. 

Acknowledgments are due to the following authorities into 
the fruit of whose labours the writer has entered: M. Jules 
Quicherat, "Condamnation et Rehabilitation de Jeanne 
d'Arc"; H. A. Wallon, "Jeanne d'Arc"; M. Simeon Luce, 
"Jeanne d'Arc a Domremy"; M. Anatole France, "Jeanne 
d'Arc"; Jules Michelet, "Jeanne d'Arc"; Monstrelet's 
"Chronicles"; Andrew Lang, "The Maid of France"; Lord 
Ronald Gower, "Joan of Arc"; F. C. Lowell, "Joan of Arc"; 
Mark Twain, "Joan of Arc"; Mrs. Oliphant, "Jeanne D'Arc"; 
Mrs. M. R. Bangs, "Jeanne D'Arc" ; Janet Tuckey, "Joan of 
Arc, the Maid," and many others. 

The thanks of the writer are also due to the librarians of New 
York City, Albany and Glens Falls who kindly aided her in 
obtaining books and information. Thanks are also due to the 
Rev. Matthew Fortier, S. J., Dean of Fordham University, 
New York City, for information upon a point for which search 
had been vainly made. 

That this book may make a little niche for itself among other 
books upon the most marvellous girl the world has ever known, 
is the wish of 

The Writer. 




Contents 



ii 
in 

IV 

V 

VI 

VII 

VIII 

IX 

X 

XI 

XII 

xin 

XIV 

XV 

XVI 

XVII 



A Children's Festival . . 11 

The Knight's Story 23 

The Waves op War Reach Domremy 35 

The Aftermath 43 

Jeanne's Vision . ; 53 

Jeanne's Harsh Words 62 

Further Visions .71 

Jeanne Receives a Gift and an Announcement . 79 

The Charge Is Accepted 90 

The First Step 98 

A Trying Time . . . ... . .,, . . . 108 

A Worsted Suitor j L .. ., ■. 119 

Farewell to Home ^ . 131 

Victory Over Doubting Hearts . . . ,. ,., . 140 
Starting the Great Adventure . . . . ,. .155 

Jeanne Comes to Her King . . . . . . .166 

The Impossible Happens ........ 181 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER p AGE 

XVIII The Warrior Maid .......... 196 

XIX The Hour and the Girl 214 

XX Jeanne Shows Her Sign 230 

XXI A Week of Wonders . 24>3 

XXII The Culmination 263 

XXni The Turning of the Tide 285 

XXIV Jeanne's Last Field . 808 

XXV In Prison Cells . 832 

XXVI On Trial ... . . . . 346 

XXVH For Her Country ,. ., . 874 

XXVIII At Domremy . . . . .., . ,., . : „ . ( . . 384 





The Warrior Maid Frontispiece 

PAGE 

The Gooseberry Spring 21 

Often they appeared in the little garden 75 

"The holy man has been to Rome" .80 

There was no smile on his face 142 

Far into the night they rode -,> .., . . .157 

"France and St. Denys !" . 235 

Forward! They are ours! . . . . r ., m m M m ?. . 327 




JOAN OF ARC 



CHAPTER I 

A Children's Festival 

'There is a fountain ki the forest called 
The Fountain of the Fairies. An ancient oak, 
The goodliest of the forest, grows beside." 

Southey. "Joan of Arc" Booh II. 



"W 



HO-OO-EE!" The gleeful shout came from 
the lips of a little girl who stood, with her hands 
cupped about her lips, on the edge of a streamlet 
which divided the village of Domremy into two parts. 

She was a slight little maiden, of some twelve summers, and 
as she gave the call she danced about in the warm sunshine 
as though unable to keep still from the mere joy of being. 
Her hair was very dark and very abundant. Her eyes were 
wonderful for their blueness and the steadfastness of their 
gaze. Her face, though comely, was remarkable not so much 

[ii] 



JOAN OF ARC 

for its beauty as for the happiness of its expression. She stood 
still listening for a moment after sending forth her call, and 
then, as the Sabbath quiet remained unbroken, she sent forth 
the cry again in a clear, sweet voice that penetrated into the 
farthest reaches of the village: 

"Who-oo-ee!" 

This time the shout was caught up instantly, and answered 
by many voices. The village wakened suddenly into life, as 
there poured forth from the cottages a goodly number of boys 
and girls who came running toward the little maid eagerly. 
She shook a finger at them reprovingly. 

"Oh, but you are late," she cried. "Here it is ten of the 
clock, and we were to start at nine. The day will be half gone 
before we get to the Tree. I was afraid that you had gone off 
without me." 

"Gone without you, Jeanne D'Arc," exclaimed one of the 
girls. "Why, we couldn't have any sport without you. I had 
to wait for my mother to fix my basket — that is the reason that 
I was late." 

"And I ! And I !" chimed several other children in a chorus. 

"Why didn't you pack them yourselves?" demanded Jeanne, 
who seemed to be a leader among them. "I did mine, and 
Jean's and Pierrelot's too." 

"But where are the boys?" asked a lad. "They are not 
here*." 

"They ran back to get more nuts," answered the little girl. 
"Jean said that we must be sure to have plenty. There! 
They are coming now. Let's get into line, and be ready to 
start as soon as they get here." 

[12] 



A CHILDREN'S FESTIVAL 

Gleefully the children formed a line, and then took up their 
march toward the great wood which stretched in primeval 
abundance half a league to the westward of Domremy. 

In all France there was not a more delicate, tranquil land- 
scape than that of this broad valley of the Meuse, which ex- 
tended in unbroken reaches between low hills, softly undulat- 
ing, crowned with oaks, maples and birches. The trees were 
leafless now, and there were still ridges of snow to be seen among 
the hills, but already there were monitions of Spring in the 
air The buds were swelling, springing grass carpeted the 
fields, and there was no longer ice in the river, which rippled 
its apple-green waters in the sunshine. 

Along the valley the banks of the Meuse were dotted with 
many hamlets, villages and towns, and among them was Dom- 
remy, which nestled upon its western side in the county of 
Champagne. It was the greyest of the grey hamlets in this 
borderland. It consisted of a castle, a monastery, and a score 
of cottages which were grouped about a small church, but it was 
well favoured by Nature in that the meadow lands which lay 
around it were rich and fertile beyond those of most villages, 
and the vineyards which covered the southern slopes of the 
hills were famous all over the countryside. 

It was the first fine day of March, 1424, and "Laetare 
Sunday." "Laetare Sunday" the fourth Sunday in Lent was 
called, because during the mass of the day was chanted the 
passage beginning, "Laetare, Jerusalem"; but the children 
called it "The Day of the Fountains," for upon this day the 
annual "Well Dressing" of the Spring which lay at the edge 
of the forest was observed, and the Fairy Tree was decorated. 

[is] 



JOAN OF ARC 

In short, upon this day the children of the valley held high 
festival. 

So, merrily they marched toward the wood; the boys carrying 
baskets of lunch, for they were to picnic, and the girls bearing 
garlands that were to be used for the decoration. It was a 
joyous party, for it was Spring; and all young things rejoice 
in Spring. There was a sweetness of leaf mold in the air that 
came to the senses with the penetrating quality of incense. A 
tender mist lay on the hills, and over all spread the radiant sky. 
The happy children laughed, and sang, and jested as they 
went, for the mild air animated them with a gentle intoxica- 
tion. 

And the little maid called Jeanne D'Arc was the blithest of 
them all. Hither and thither she darted, lightly as thistle 
down, seeming literally to bubble over with happiness. All at 
once she stooped, and plucked a long blade of grass, holding it 
up for inspection. 

"See, Mengette," she cried addressing a girl near her. 
"How long the grass is! And how warm the sun is! Oh, is 
not God good to give us so fine day for our pleasure?" 

"He is good; yes," assented the girl addressed as Mengette. 
Then as the little maid darted away she turned to the girl by 
her side: "Jeanne is so religious," she commented with a shrug 
of her shoulders. "She cannot even play without speaking of 
God. I wish that she were not so good. And you wish it too, 
do you not, Hauviette?" 

"Wish that Jeanne D'Arc would not be so good?" exclaimed 
Hauviette, who was a staunch friend of Jeanne's. "Why, she 
would not be Jeanne D'Arc if she were not good." 

[14] 



A CHILDREN'S FESTIVAL 

"I do not mean for her not to be good exactly," demurred 
the first girl. "I meant that I wished she were not so pious." 

"Mengette, if the Cure should hear you," breathed the second 
girl in shocked tones. "He would make you say many Ave 

Maries." 

"And who is to tell him what I say?" demanded Mengette, 
an expression of anxiety flitting across her face. 

"Not I, Mengette, but I fear some of the others hearing 
such words may speak of them to the good Cure." 

"But the others speak as I do," protested Mengette. 
"There is not one of them who does not think that Jeanne 
D Arc is too pious." 

"Attend," cried one of the lads at this moment using the 
peasant's expression to attract attention. "Let's see who shall 
be first to reach the tree. He who does so shall hang the first 

wreath." 

A gleeful shout went up at the words, and there followed 
a quick dash for the tree, which began before the speaker had 
made an end of what he was saying. Among the others 
Jeanne D'Arc threw up her head, laughing merrily, and darted 
forward. So fleet and light of foot was she that she soon 
distanced her companions. Easily could she have gained the 
goal had there not come a cry from Mengette, who at this in- 
stant stumbled and fell prone upon the grass. Like a flash 
Jeanne turned, and, seeing that Mengette had risen, and was 
standing bent over as though in pain, ran back to her. 

"Are you hurt, Mengette?" she asked anxiously. ' 'Tis pity 
that you fell. Where is the pain?" 

"In my knee," sobbed Mengette. "And now I shall have 

[15] 



JOAN OF ARC 

to lag behind; for walk fast I cannot. Do you run on, 
Jeanne. You were like to win the race, so fleet of foot were 
you. In truth, it seemed as though you were flying. Myself, 
I will reach the tree when I can." 

"Nenni," replied Jeanne, using the strong peasant negative. 
"I will walk with you. 'Tis not far now, but the way would 
seem long to you should you traverse it alone when in pain. 
There! lean on me." 

With a sigh of relief that she was not to be left by herself 
Mengette leaned heavily on the arm of her friend, though the 
latter was younger and smaller than she. She thought naught 
of this. It seemed natural to her playmates to lean upon 
Jeanne D'Arc. So, slowly, with much groaning on Mengette's 
part, the two friends came presently to the Fairy Tree, where 
the rest of the party were already assembled. 

On the border of the Bois Chesnu (the woods of oaks) , stood 
an ancient beech tree overhanging the highroad. "In Spring," 
said the peasants of the valley, "the tree is as fair as lily flowers, 
the leaves and branches sweep the ground." It had many 
names, but was usually spoken of as 1'Arbre-des-Fees. Once 
upon a time, when the lords and ladies of Bourlemont dwelt 
at the castle which stood before the village, it had been called 
"The Ladies' Tree." For then the high born dames and their 
cavaliers feasted and danced about it with each renewal of 
Spring. But the castle had long been deserted, so the chil- 
dren had come to claim the tree for their own. 

They called it The Fairy Tree, because it was believed that 
in the olden time the fairies used it for a trysting place. So 
now, with bursts of song and laughter, the girls hung their 

[16] 



A CHILDREN'S FESTIVAL 

garlands upon its ancient branches, then joining hands the 
lads and the lassies formed a ring, and circled around the tree, 
singing gayly. 

It was a pretty sight: pastoral and innocent,— one that 
would have delighted the heart of a Corot. The singing 
children dancing about the tree, the red homespun frocks of 
the girls and the blue smocks of the boys making pleasing bits 
of color against the dark forest stretching behind them, and 
the distant village nestled on the banks of the apple-green river. 
Perhaps the festival was a survival of paganism; perchance a 
remnant of the tree worship of the ancient Celts interwoven 
with a traditional holiday; but the Church recognized it. On 
Ascension Eve the priest came there, and chanted the Gospel 
of Saint John to exorcise the spirits, so that neither fairies nor 
anything evil could harm the little ones of his flock. 

After the ceremony of hanging the wreaths was completed 
a cloth was spread upon the grass, and the contents of the lunch 
baskets placed thereon. There were nuts, hard boiled eggs, 
and little rolls of a curious form, which the housewives had 
kneaded on purpose. In the midst of the preparations there 
came the clamor of bells drifting from the linked villages of 
Domremy and Greux, chiming the midday angelus. 

Instantly little Jeanne, who was among the girls busied 
about the lunch arose and, turning toward the church of her 
own village, joined her palms, bending her forehead to them. 
Mengette, who had taken no part in getting the lunch ready 
because of her lamed knee, and who sat in the shade of the beech 
upon the grass, leaned over and poked Pierre, one of Jeanne's 
brothers, in the side. 

[17] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Do as your sister does, Pierrelot," she cried, pointing toward 
the reverent little maiden. 

"Myself, I am not so devout," he made answer. "Neither 
Jean, Jacquemin, nor I feel as Jeanne does, but such things 
are to her liking. My mother grieves that I am so slack in 
the matter. But Jeanne loves the church. She is a good 
sister." 

"And a good friend also, Pierrelot," nodded the girl em- 
phatically, remembering how Jeanne had come back to her 
while the rest of the party had gone on. "She might have 
been first at the tree, and so have won the right to hang her 
wreath first. Instead, she came back to help me." 

"Jeanne," called Hauviette suddenly, as the angelus ceased 
to chime, and the devout little maid turned again toward her 
companions, "do you not wish that we could have our 'Well 
dressing' upon Thursday instead of 'Laetare Sunday'? 'Tis 
said that then the fairies hold their tryst." 

"Pouf !" ejaculated Pierre, or Pierrelot, as he was usually 
called. "You would not find them an you did come. There 
are no fairies now. My godfather Jean says that there have 
been no fairies at Domremy for twenty or thirty years. So 
what would be the use of coming here Thursday?" 

"But my godmother says that one of the lords of the castle 
became a fairy's knight, and kept his tryst with her here un- 
der this very tree at eventide; so there must be fairies," spoke 
Hauviette with timid persistency. "What do you think, 
Jeanne?" 

"They come no more," replied the little maid gravely. 
"Godmother Beatrix and the Cure both say that they do not. 

[18] 



A CHILDREN'S FESTIVAL 

They came in the olden time, but for their sins they come no 
longer." 

"Perchance they hold their meetings further back in the 
wood," suggested another girl. "That may be the reason 
that they are not seen." 

"I shall see," cried one of the boys rising, and starting 
toward the forest that extended its dark reaches behind them. 
"If there be fairies there, I, Colin, shall find them." 

"Do not go, Colin," exclaimed Jeanne in alarm, "You know 
that there is danger both from wolves and wild boars." 

Few dared enter the wood, so thick it was, and the wolves 
it harbored were the terror of the countryside. So greatly 
were they feared, and such was the desire to be rid of the 
menace, that there was a reward given by the mayors of the 
villages for every head of a wolf, or a wolf cub, brought to 
them. So now a protesting chorus arose from the children as 
Colin, with a scornful "Pouf !" threw his shoulders back, and 
swaggered into the wood. 

" 'Tis time for the 'Well dressing,' " declared Jean, another 
one of Jeanne's brothers. "Let Colin look for the fairies if 
he will. Let us go to the Spring. 'Tis what we came for." 

"And so say I," chimed in another boy. 

"And I. And I," came from others. As this seemed to 
be the desire of all there was an immediate stir and bustle. 
The remnants of the lunch were hastily gathered up, and put 
in baskets; some of the wreaths were taken from the tree, 
and then the line of march was formed. Just as they were 
ready to start, however, there came a shrill shout from the 
forest: 

[19] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"A wolf! A wolf!" cried the voice of Colin. "Help! 
Help!" 

Stock still stood the frightened children. Again the cry 
came. At once there was a stir in the line, and a babel of 
excited voices broke forth as Jeanne D'Arc was seen running 
pell-mell into the forest in the direction from which the voice 
of her playmate came. 

Colin was standing in the midst of a blackthorn thicket 
when she reached him. There was no sign of wolf, or animal 
of any kind, and he burst into a peal of laughter as the little 
girl glanced about in amazement. As the sound of his mirth 
reached the waiting children they too, knowing from it that 
naught was amiss, ran into the wood. The mischievous boy 
doubled up, and rocked to and fro in glee. 

"Oh, but you were well fooled," he cried. "Look at Jeanne's 
face. You were afraid. All but her, and what could she have 
done to help me an there had been a wolf?" 

"She could have done all that you deserve to have done, 
Colin," retorted Pierre, who was a manly little lad. "Shame 
upon you for crying out when there was naught to cry for. 
'Twould serve you right should a real wolf set upon you. Your 
mother shall know how you sought to frighten us." 

" 'Twas but in sport," muttered Colin, somewhat crestfallen. 
He had thought that the jest would be treated as great fun, 
and now here they stood regarding him reproachfully. 
" 'Twas but in sport," he said again, but there was no answer- 
ing smile on any of the faces around him. The matter was of 
too serious a nature to admit of jesting. 

For a brief time only did the children stand about the boy, 

[20] 




THE GOOSEBERRY SPRING 



A CHILDREN'S FESTIVAL 

and then with one accord, though no word was spoken, they 
formed their line again, and started for the Spring. Colin 
followed after shamedfacedly. 

At first the march was a silent one, for the incident had 
thrown a damper upon their spirits, but soon it was forgotten, 
and once more their voices rose in song and mirth. The boys 
and girls who were at the head of the party went rapidly, 
and suddenly caught sight of a streamlet of pure water spring- 
ing from a wooded hole in a wooded hill, by the side of a 
wooden bench which formed a resting place about the middle 
of the slope. The streamlet at first spread into a basin which 
it had excavated for itself; and then, falling in a small cascade, 
flowed across the path where a carpet of cress had grown, and 
disappeared in the reeds and grasses. All about the margin 
of the Spring were gooseberry bushes intertwining their 
branches of greyish green, and these gave it the name of Goose- 
berry Spring. 

It was believed that the water had miraculous healing powers, 
so the children in turn knelt by the side of the basin, and drank 
deeply of the limpid water. For one drink from this wonder- 
ful Spring, it was said, was an insurance against fever for a 
whole year. The garlands which had been carried from the 
Fairy Tree were now spread around the "Well," a ring was 
formed, and the children danced and sang as they had done 
about the tree. The sun was setting before the games were 
ended, and the rustic festival was over. Then, tired but happy, 
the little folk set their faces toward home. 

On the outskirts of the village Jeanne and her brothers met 
Jacques DArc, their father, who was driving his flocks and 

[21] 



JOAN OF ARC 

herds from the commune for the night. He was a peasant of 
sturdy appearance, an upright man, unusually strict and care- 
ful of the behaviour of his children. Jeanne's firm chin and 
wistful mouth were inherited from this parent. Now as they 
ran to help him in his task he greeted them briefly : 

"There is company," he told them. "Your Gossip 1 Beatrix 
has come, Jeanne, and two soldiers of France who have escaped 
from the Burgundians. By our Lady, this being upon the 
highroad has its drawbacks ! 'Tis getting so that no day passes 
without some wayfarer stopping for bite and bed. The house 
is overrun." 

"But you like it, father," reminded Jeanne, slipping her 
hand into his. "For do not the wayfarers bring you news of 
all that happens beyond the mountains ?" 

"That is well enough," admitted Jacques grumblingly. 
"But even so, no man likes his house always full. There! let 
the matter rest. We must hasten with the cattle. The night 
grows apace." 

"And mother will have need of me to help her," cried Jeanne, 
quickening her steps. "With so much company there will be 
much work to be done." 

i Gossip — A name usually given to godmothers. 



[22] 




CHAPTER II 



The Knight's Story 

"By a Woman Shall France Be Lost; By a Maid Shall 
It Be Redeemed." 

Old Prophecy. Merlin, The Magician. 

THE house where Jeanne D'Arc lived was a stone cot- 
tage with the roof sloping from a height on one side 
half way to the ground on the other. In front there 
were but two windows, admitting but a scanty light. Close by 
the door, as was usual in that country, were piles of faggots 
and farm tools covered with mud and rust. The enclosure 
served also as kitchen garden and orchard. 

Beyond the cottage, scarce a stone's throw distant, only sepa- 
rated from it by a small graveyard, stood the village church, 
and north of both buildings there was a square towered mon- 
astery. 

A streamlet that flowed down into the Meuse trickled noisily 
by the cottage and church, dividing them from the other houses 
of the village. Perhaps it was because of this fact that the 

[23] 



JOAN OF ARC 

church seemed to Jeanne to belong more to her and to her 
family than it did to the other inhabitants of Domremy. Born 
under its very walls, she was lulled in her cradle by the chime 
of its bells, and cherished a passionate love for them in her heart. 
Involuntarily the little girl paused with her hand on the latch 
to cast a lingering, tender glance at the church before opening 
the door of the cottage. Before she had crossed the threshold 
a tall woman, who was stirring the contents of a large iron 
pot which hung on a tripod before the fire, turned quickly 
at the sound of her sabots, and seeing that it was Jeanne hastily 
left her task and drew the maid once more without the door. 
It was Isabeau Romee, 1 the wife of Jacques D'Arc. In mar- 
riage the wife always retained her maiden name, so Jeanne's 
mother was always spoken of as Isabeau Romee of Vauthon, 
her native village. She was mild in manner, but her usual 
serenity was at this moment disturbed by anxiety. 

"Right glad am I that you have come, Jeanne," she re- 
marked. "Your Gossip Beatrix has been asking for you. 
She came this afternoon. And but a short time since two men 
at arms came, asking for supper and bed. Gentles they are, 
who have but escaped from the hands of the Burgundians, hav- 
ing been prisoners for many months. Sup them I will right 
gladly, but bed them I can not. The house is full. It galls 
your father that we must refuse them." 

"And why not bed them, mother? Let little Catherine sleep 
with you, and I can lie upon the floor before the hearth. Then 
the gentles may have my bed." 

i Romee. So called by reason of a pilgrimage achieved either by her or some 
member of her family to Rome. 

[24] 



THE KNIGHTS STORY, 

"But you are wearied from your play, my little one, and 
to-morrow we go to the river to wash the clothes. You will 
need a good rest." 

"Fear not, mother; I shall sleep well," answered Jeanne 
cheerily. "If the poor men have but escaped from prison per- 
chance they have had naught but the cold stones of a dungeon 
to lie upon. Do let it be as I say, mother." 

"As you will then, my little one. In truth it would have 
grieved me sorely to refuse the bed, but I knew not what to do. 
You have a good heart, child. Go now, and carry in more 
faggots for the fire. The night grows chill, though the day 
was so warm. A bundle will not be too much for the chimney. 
Then bring forth the drinking cups and the knife for cutting 
the bread and put them upon the table. I will go to the oven 
for another loaf." 

"The dear child," mused the mother as Jeanne obediently 
gathered up a large bundle of the faggots and turned toward 
the cottage. "The dear child! Ever ready is she to give up 
her own comfort for that of others. May our Lady watch 
over her!" 

Meantime Jeanne had hastened into the house, and had 
thrown her bundle of faggots into the great chimney, over 
which hung a white stone mantel shaped somewhat like a pent 
house. On one side of the hearth flags sat an elderly woman 
who was amusing Jeanne's sister, Catherine, a child a few 
years younger than she. Jeanne returned the woman's warm 
greeting affectionately, then drew the deal table before the 
hearth, glancing as she did so at the two men who sat at the 
far end of the hearth flags. 

[25] 



JOAN OF ARC 

One was a man of thirty-five or so; the other looked to be 
ten years his junior. That they were well born was apparent 
from their bearing and manner, but their armour and clothing 
were in sad condition. Their hucques x were in tatters, and only 
the closest inspection revealed that they had been of velvet. 
They wore no helmets, and many plates were missing from their 
rusty armour, leaving their bodies fair marks for arrows or 
cross bolts. Noting all this Jeanne was startled to observe 
that from the right arm of the younger knight a tiny stream 
of blood trickled through the steel sleeve. She was a timid 
girl with strangers, therefore it was a full minute before she 
could muster courage to approach the young man. 

"You bleed, messire," she said, touching him shyly on the 
shoulder. 

"Eh? What?" The young man started quickly, for he 
had been dozing in his chair. "Oh! The wound?" following 
her glance at his arm. " 'Tis naught. The scratch has but 
broken out anew." 

"It should be dressed," asserted the little girl with concern. 
"I like not to see French blood flow." 

"She speaks truth, Bertrand," interjected the older man. 
"A green wound tingles and burns, and there may be many a 
fray before us ere we behold Chalons. Here! I will be your 
squire for the nonce, and unbuckle your armour. 'Tis a good 
little maid!" 

The young man addressed as Bertrand rose, and let his friend 
assist him to remove his armour, protesting against the need 
of it as he did so. Jeanne meantime brought a basin of water, 

i Hucques — Cloaks worn over the armour. 

[26] 



THE KNIGHT'S STORY 

and when the knight had pushed back the sleeve of his doublet 
she washed the blood from the wound gently. Then, with all 
the deftness that Isabeau had taught her — for many were the 
wounded who had experienced their services — she applied a 
compress of oil, and bandaged the arm with bands of serge. 

"I thank you, my little maid," spoke the young man grate- 
fully. "It does in truth feel better, and though but a scratch, 
was indeed painful. What is your name?" 

"Jeanne, messire." 

"I will remember it, Jeanne. Who taught you to be so deft 
in such matters?" 

"My mother, messire." Jeanne blushed at being so inter- 
rogated. 

"You have a gentle touch. If my arm does not heal quickly 
under such ministration it does not belong to Bertrand de 
Poulengy." 

Jeanne blushed again and withdrew quickly, carrying the 
basin with her. After placing a tall flagon, the wooden drink- 
ing cups, and the knife for cutting the bread upon the table 
she went to her godmother's side, and sat down. 

As she did so her father and mother entered. Upon her 
arm Isabeau carried a large ring of black bread, while Jacques 
brought another armful of faggots. They were a hard work- 
ing, devout couple who strove to bring up their children, — of 
which there were five : three sons, Jacquemin, Jean, and Pierre ; 
and two daughters, Jeanne and Catherine, — to love work and 
religion. Jacques D'Arc was a doyen; that is, a village elder; 
the chief man in Domremy after the mayor. He was of such 
substance that he was enabled to raise his family in comfort, and 

[27] 



JOAN OF ARC 

to give alms and hospitality to the poor wandering friars, and 
other needy wayfarers then so common in the land. 

"Sit up, messires," cried Jacques as his wife emptied the 
contents of the iron pot into a platter which she set on the 
table. "Eat, for you must be hungry. Ay! and thirsty too, I 
doubt not." 

"By our Lady, but that hath a welcome sound, honest 
Jacques," cried the elder knight, starting up eagerly. "We 
are both hungry and thirsty. Neither of us has broken his fast 
since morning, and then the repast was but meagre. Bertrand, 
man, does not the flavor of that stew assail your nostrils de- 
liciously?" 

"It does indeed, Louis. Methinks that I shall do justice to 
it. The Duke of Lorraine does not regale his prisoners on 
such fare." 

"You were prisoners to the Duke of Lorraine?" questioned 
Jacques as he and his guests drew up to the table. The women 
and children sat apart waiting to eat later. 

"Ay ! and have been for these many weary months, Jacques. 
It seems like a miracle that we did at last escape, but so it has 
fallen out." 

"Tell of the manner of your taking and escape, if it please 
you, messire," spoke Jacques. " 'Twill enliven the hour, and 
we are of the King's party here." 

"Bight well do we know that, Jacques D'Arc, else we would 
not have tarried here. Domremy is well known to be for the 
King." 

"Ay! for the King and France. Save for one man the en- 

[28] 



THE KNIGHT'S STORY 

tire village is against the Burgundians and the English in- 
vaders." 

1 'Tis good to hear such report, Jacques. And now if you 
wish to hear the tale it pleases me well to tell it. Know then 
that in August last, I, Louis De Lude, and Bertrand de 
Poulengy here with six other men at arms did set forth from 
the town of Chalons for that of Tours, being sadly in need 
of armour. You must know that for armour there be none 
in all France that can compare with the smiths of Tours. 
Through fear of being set upon by either the enemy, or maraud- 
ing bands, we travelled at night, avoiding the frequented roads 
and the towns known to be in possession of the hostile party. 
Thus we went for ten days with no untoward event happening, 
and on the morning of the eleventh day we broke into gratula- 
tion, for then we came in sight of the walls of Tours. 

"The sun was an hour high, and all the gates of the town 
were open. Through them the country folk were passing with 
milk and fruit for the market. The sight was a welcome one 
to travellers weary of the road and road fare. With cries of 
pleasure we spurred our horses forward. When within a half 
league of the city the joyous exclamations died on our lips, for 
suddenly the gates were closed, leaving us and a few poor 
market people outside. The country people ran distractedly 
toward the town, uttering loud outcries as the watchman ap- 
peared on the ramparts, shouting something that we were not 
near enough to understand. Wondering at the action of the 
town, and the apparent terror of the people we wheeled, and 
saw the cause. 

. [29] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"The frequented road from the town wound a short distance 
away between two low hills, and over the green shoulder of 
one of these a dozen bright points caught and reflected the 
morning light. Even as we looked the points lifted, and be- 
came spears. Ten, twenty, thirty, still they came until we 
could no longer count them. We turned to make a dash back 
in the way we had come, and behold ! springing up in front of 
us were other spears. We were caught; and, outnumbered 
though we were, there was nothing for it but to fight. And 
fight we did, for in a moment they were upon us. 

" 'Tis hard to know just what is happening when one is 
in the thick of combat. There were yells and wild cries as the 
two forces came together in a huddle of falling or rearing 
horses, of flickering weapons, of thrusting men, of grapples 
hand to hand. Who it was fell, stabbed through and through, 
or who still fought single combat I could not tell. It was over 
presently, and as I yielded up my sword in surrender I glanced 
about me; and lo! of our little band but three remained: Ber- 
trand here, Jean Laval, and myself. We had fallen into the 
hands of Sabbat, the free-booter, the terror of Anjou and 
Touraine. 

"He did not take us to his garrison at Langeais, but retreated 
to those same low hills by the road, and there cast us into a 
pit to be held for ransom. Ransom? In sooth, he deserved 
none, for he took from us the livres we had for our armour. 
One hundred and twenty-five livres tournois did Bertrand and 
I have each for that purpose, and he took them. Ay! and 
likewise he robbed our comrades who were dead. But our 
armour they left us, because it was old. Three months we 

[SO] 



THE KNIGHT'S STORY 

stayed in that pit waiting for ransom, with bread and water for 
our daily fare. And truly it was the bread of sadness and the 
water of affliction. Jean died of his wounds, but Bertrand 
and I came through. 

"And then it fell upon a day that some of my Lord Duke, 
Charles of Lorraine's, retainers passed by the robbers' lair on 
their way from Tours to Lorraine. Sabbat's men set upon, 
them even as they had done upon us. But the Duke's men 
worsted them, and carried away not only many freebooters, 
as prisoners but those also who were held captive by the maraud- 
ers. Finding that Bertrand and I were Armagnacs, of the 
King's party, they took us to the ducal palace at Nancy to be 
held for ransom. We were thrown into a dungeon there to. 
await the return of the messenger to our friends, but whether 
money was ever sent either to Duke Charles or to Sabbat we 
know not. All that we know is that we lay waiting, waiting 
in that vile dungeon for weary days. So the time went by; 
long months that sapped our vigour, but which whetted our 
appetites for vengeance. 

"We were not upon parole, though my Lord Charles had. 
striven to put us there, so we watched for a chance to escape, 
as is the right of every prisoner. It came at length. Two 
days ago the old man, who was our keeper, came to us at even- 
tide bearing the black bread that formed our meals. He had 
not brought the water, and Bertrand made a cry for it, grum- 
bling loudly because it had not been fetched, saying that he 
was athirst. It confused the old man, because he had in very 
truth forgot the water, which he was loath to acknowledge., 
For this reason he neglected his usual caution of backing out of r 

[31] 



JOAN OF ARC 

the dungeon with his face toward us, and turned his back upon 
us. Instantly we sprang upon him, and easily overcame him. 
We bound him with his own garments, and then, possessing 
ourselves of his keys, went forth boldly. To our amazement 
we found our way into the courtyard without encountering 
any one. There were sounds of revelry from the palace, and 
creeping near we found that it was the anniversary of his 
birthnight, so Duke Charles held high carnival. It was the 
night of all nights favorable to an escape. 

"The guard was relaxed so, unchallenged, we succeeded in 
placing a scaling ladder against the ramparts, and up we went. 
When we had reached the top, however, we were seen, and a 
shower of arrows were shot at us, wounding Bertrand. Two 
lance lengths high were the walls, but we dropped from them to 
the outside, landing, by God's grace, on the edge of the moat. 
We crept close to the walls, and the fast falling darkness hid 
us from the view of the archers on the top. 

"Doubtless they thought that we had fallen into the water, 
for presently the hue and cry died down, and we heard no 
sound that denoted that search was being made for us. Then 
cautiously we crossed the moat, fearful of its waters, but Saint 
Catherine, the friend of escaping prisoners, was with us, and 
reaching the other side we went forth free men once more. 
How we obtained horses and the manner of coming here have 
nothing of mark to relate. We did obtain them, and we came. 
And that, honest Jacques, is the tale. A common one in 
France." 

"Ay, messire ; but too common," agreed Jacques, shaking his 
head mournfully. "Truly, France has fallen upon evil days." 

[32] 



THE KNIGHT'S STORY 

"It has! It has! And to none other than Isabella of 
Bavaria do we owe them. By that infamous treaty of Troyes 
by which Charles, the Dauphin, was disinherited in favor of 
Henry Fifth of England the Queen lost us France." 

"She lost us France," acquiesced Jacques. The younger 
knight spoke abruptly: 

"I was at Troyes when that treaty was signed. 'Twas four 
years ago, and of April the ninth day. Well do I remember 
it ; for at the same time the ceremony that betrothed our Lady 
Catherine to Henry of England was celebrated. The King, 
our poor mad King, was brought from his retreat to be made 
to sign the treaty, and the streets and the ramparts of the 
town were filled with people desirous of seeing him. The 
Dauphin was there, looking like death, and well he might ; for 
the kingdom which was his by right, as well as his sister's, was 
to be given to the butcher of Agincourt. His mother, Queen 
Isabella, was here, there, everywhere, flaunting a robe of blue 
silk damask and a coat of black velvet into the lining of which 
the skins of fifteen hundred minevers had gone. Shamelessly 
she made a gala day of the matter, and after the ceremony 
caused her singing birds, goldfinches, siskins, and linnets to be 
brought for her entertainment. And now, the Duke of Bed- 
ford is Regent of France, holding it for Henry Fifth's son; 
and the Dauphin, who should be king since his father is dead, 
lies in retreat in Bruges. Isabella lost us France. The shame- 
less woman!" 

"Shameless indeed, Bertrand, but take courage. Have you 
never heard that though a woman should lose France, from the 
march of Lorraine a Virgin shall come for its redemption?" 

[33] 



JOAN OF ARC 

" 'Tis Merlin's prophecy, Louis. 'A Maid who is to restore 
France, ruined by a woman, shall come from the Bois Chesnu 
in the march of Lorraine/ is the reading. Poufl What could 
a maid do in such matters? I believe it not." 

"Nor I," ejaculated Jacques. He laughed outright sud- 
denly. "Why, the Bois Chesnu is our own wood out there," 
and he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Messire, 'tis a 
prophecy that will fail." 

"Scoff not, ye doubters," cried Louis. "With God all things 
are possible. For my part, I would a Maid would come to the 
healing of France. But there! 'tis long since I have slept on 
aught but stones, and fain would I lie upon a bed. Good 
Jacques, if you have such a thing, show me it, I pray you. I 
am weary." 

"Then come, messires." Jacques lighted a candle and led 
the way to an upper room, while Isabeau opened the doors of 
the cupboard bed on the far side of the room, and made it ready. 
Then she drew her children round her to hear their prayers and 
the Credo. After which the family went to their beds. 

But Jeanne lay down upon the floor before the hearth. 



[34] 




CHAPTER III 

The Waves oe War Reach Domremy? 

'Bright shone the sun, the birds sang cheerfully, 
And all the fields seemed joyous in the Spring: 
But to Domremy wretched was that day; 
For there was lamentation, and the voice 
Of anguish, and the deeper agony 
That spake not." 

Southey. "Joan of Arc." Booh I. 



THE condition of France in this year of grace, 1424, 
was deplorable in the extreme. For more than one 
hundred years war had raged between England and 
France. The kingdom which had been strong and splendid 
under the great Charlemagne had fallen into disintegration. 
Unity had no existence. By the treaty of Troyes, signed by 
the mad King, Charles VI, influenced by his unscrupulous 
queen, Isabella of Bavaria, Henry Fifth of England was made 
Regent of France during the lifetime of Charles, and assured 
of the full possession of the French throne after the mad King's 
death, thus disinheriting the Dauphin. Of the fourteen prov- 
inces left by Charles Fifth to his successor only three remained 
in the power of the French crown. 

[S5] 



JOAN OF ARC 

It was Henry Fifth's fond hope that by this treaty and by 
his marriage with a French princess the war would cease, and 
France would lie forever at the foot of England. For a time 
it seemed as though these hopes were to be justified. Then, in 
1422 both he and the French king died, and the war broke out 
again. 

The Duke of Bedford, Henry Fifth's brother, assumed the 
regency of France until the young son of Henry Fifth, Henry 
Sixth, was old enough to be crowned. Charles, the Dauphin, 
meantime declared himself king and rightful heir, and many 
upheld his claim. But there were some, among them the Duke 
of Burgundy, the most powerful of the princes of France, who 
because of private injuries suffered at the hands of the 
Dauphin, sustained the claim of the English. Thus the coun- 
try presented the sad spectacle of French princes warring 
against each other and the king more furiously than they did 
against the invader. Frenchmen were not Frenchmen; they 
were Burgundians, Armagnacs, Bretons, or Provencaux. The 
country was torn in pieces with different causes and cries. 
Bands of mercenaries and freebooters ravaged and pillaged the 
people with a cheerful disregard of the political party to which 
they belonged. 

Under such conditions the distress of the country was great. 
Many regions were depopulated; in many the wild wood had 
over run the cultivated soil; in others agriculture could be prac- 
tised only near castles and walled towns. Under the sound of 
the warning horn or church bell the cattle would run of them- 
selves to places of refuge. When the country was so harried 
and devastated it behooved the villages and towns to keep a 

[W] 



THE WAVES OF WAR REACH DOMREMY 

watchman ever on the lookout for the glitter of lances that the 
inhabitants might have time to gather their cattle and retreat 
to a place of safety. 

Nor had the march of Lorraine and Champagne, as the valley 
of the river was called, been exempt from the common woe. 
It was long an object of contention between monarch and duke, 
but had finally passed into the hands of the crown, so that its 
people were directly subject to the King. The march was not 
only the highroad to Germany, but it was, too, the frontier 
between the two great parties : near Domremy was one of the 
last villages that held to the Burgundians; all the rest were 
for Charles, the Dauphin. In all ages the valley had suffered 
cruelly from war: first, the war between duke and monarch for 
its possession ; and now, the war between the Burgundians and 
the Armagnacs. At a time when the whole of Christendom 
was given up to pillage the men at arms of the Lorraine- 
Marches were renowned as the greatest plunderers in the world. 
Therefore, life at Domremy was one perpetual alarm. All 
day and all night a watchman was stationed on the square 
tower of the monastery, and the inhabitants held themselves 
ready to fly at a moment's warning. And yet men sowed and 
reaped; women spun and wove; children romped and sang; 
and all the occupations of a rural people went on. 

In the midst of these anxieties life at the house of Jacques 
D'Arc seemed calm and serene. March passed, and dewy 
April too had been gathered into the Book of Months. It was 
May. The trees were masses of foliage, the meadows starry 
with wild flowers, and the greenish water of the winding river 
was almost hidden by the dense clumps of rushes that grew 

[37] 



JOAN OF ARC 

upon its banks. Vallis Colorum, the Valley of Colors, the 
Romans had called it, and truly in this fair May it was so 
radiant, and fragrant, and flowery that it well deserved the 
designation. 

"Jeanne," said Jacques D'Arc one morning as the little girl 
rose from the breakfast table and took her place before the 
spinning wheel, "you can not spin to-day. I need Pierrelot in 
the field, so that you must mind the sheep. Seedtime is short, 
and if we do not get the sowing done soon we can not reap a 
harvest." 

"Very well, father," said Jeanne, rising. Taking her distaff, 
for the time spent in watching the flock was not to be passed in 
idleness, she went at once to the fold to lead out the sheep. 
Usually the stock of the villagers was kept in sheds attached 
to the houses, but the D'Arc family kept their animals in a 
separate building. It was still early, but the sheep were to be 
taken to the uplands, which lay beyond the common that could 
not now be used for pasturing because of the growing hay, so 
an early start was necessary. 

There were already several little shepherdesses on the up- 
land, and Jeanne waved her hand to Hauviette and Mengette, 
who were nearest. They too had their distaffs, and soon the 
three friends were seated together near the oak wood pulling 
the threads for spinning, chatting gaily, and ever and anon 
casting watchful glances at the browsing sheep. They were 
careful little maids, knowing well the value of the flocks they 
tended. 

It seemed as though all of the inhabitants of the village were 
out in the open, so many men, and boys, and women were there 

[38] 



THE WAVES OF WAR REACH DOMREMY 

engaged in sowing the fields, or busied in the vineyards on the 
hill slopes. The morning was almost past when the quiet of 
the peaceful scene was broken by a hoarse shout from the watch- 
man on the square tower of the monastery : 

''The Burgundians ! The Burgundians are coming ! To the 
fortress for your lives." 

As his voice died away the bells of the church sounded the 
alarm. Noisily they pealed in a harsh and terrifying clamor, 
those bells which in turn celebrated the births, tolled for the 
dead, and summoned the people to prayer. Instantly the fields 
and vineyards became scenes of commotion and confusion. 
Hoarse shouts and cries rent the air. Men, women, and chil- 
dren ran frantically toward the village, carrying their farm 
tools, and driving the cattle pellmell before them. From the 
cottages there poured forth the aged, the old men and women 
who could no longer work in the fields and who therefore cared 
for the young children and the houses while their juniors did 
the outside work. Both the old people and the children bore 
whatever of value they could carry from the cottages, and 
thus burdened all ran toward the castle. 

As the watchman gave his cry Jeanne, Mengette, and 
Hauviette sprang excitedly to their feet. Dropping their 
distaffs the two latter girls, leaving their flocks, ran toward the 
fields where their elders were, forgetful of everything but their 
own safety. But Jeanne stood still, a little line of perplexity 
wrinkling her forehead. Sheep are nervous animals, and these 
had lifted their heads as though startled, and were beginning 
to bleat piteously. Once among the plunging, bellowing cattle 
nothing could be done with them. Should they break and run 

[39] 



JOAN OF ARC 

into the forest they would be devoured by wolves. If they 
scattered in the meadows they would become the booty of the 
attacking party. In either case her father would be the loser. 
Only a second did she remain inactive, and then, clear and 
sweet, she sounded the shepherd's call: 

"Cudday! Cudday! Cudday!" 

Bell-like her voice rose above the confusion. The old bell- 
wether of the flock recognized the tones of his shepherd, and 
started toward her. Jeanne turned, and started toward the 
village, stopping frequently to sound the call : 

"Cudday! Cudday! Cudday!" 

And quietly, confidently the old bell-wether followed her, 
bringing the flock with him. Half way to the village she met 
Pierre, who came running back to her. The lad was breathless 
and panting, but he managed to gasp : 

"Father says, father says to leave the sheep, Jeanne." 

"Nenni, nenni," returned Jeanne. "I can bring them in 
safely." 

At this moment there came a ringing shout from Jacques 
D'Arc: 

"Leave the cattle and sheep, friends ! Make for the castle ! 
The foe is upon us." 

The terrified people glanced down the highroad along which 
the raiding party was approaching. There was but scant time 
to reach the fortress, and, as Jacques D'Arc had seen, it could 
only be done without encumbrance. Leaving the animals 
forthwith the villagers broke into a run, while Jacques hastened 
to his children. 

[40] 



THE WAVES OF WAR REACH DOMREMY 

"Father, I know that I could—" began Jeanne, but her 
father interrupted her vehemently, 

"Talk not, but run, my little one. There is no time to 

lose." 

The castle stood on an island formed by two arms of the 
Meuse. Belonging to it was a courtyard provided with means 
of defense, and a large garden surrounded by a moat wide and 
deep. It was commonly called the Fortress of the Island. 
It had been the abode of those fair ladies and brave lords who 
were wont in the olden time to dance about the Fairy Tree. 
The last of the lords having died without children the property 
passed to his niece. The lady married a baron of Lorraine 
with whom she went to reside at the ducal court of Nancy, thus 
leaving it uninhabited. Wishing to have a place of retreat 
from attacks of marauding parties Jacques D'Arc and another 
man, on behalf of the villagers, leased the castle from the lady 
for a term of nine years. 

The precaution had been useful on many occasions, but upon 
this bright, May morning it proved futile so far as the property 
of the villagers was concerned. The approach of the maraud- 
ers was too rapid to permit the poor people to do more than to 
reach the castle in safety. Jacques D'Arc and his two children 
were the last to cross the drawbridge, which was instantly drawn 
up, and the gate was closed. They were safe, for it was a 
place that ten could hold against ten hundred. 

Through the loop-holes the villagers beheld the scene that 
followed. With terrifying cries the raiders rode into the ham- 
let. Some rounded up the cattle and sheep preparatory to 

[41] 



JOAN OF ARC 

driving them off; others hitched oxen to carts and drove them 
to the middle of the village, where still others piled the furni- 
ture from the cottages into the carts. Silent and tearless the 
hapless inhabitants watched while the hearths of their homes 
were torn up, and mantels demolished in the search for hidden 
treasure. Even the church was not exempt from the pillage. 
And then, that no part of misery might be spared to Domremy, 
the plunderers applied the torch to the houses. 

Women wrung their hands, some dry-eyed, others with sobs 
and cries at sight of their blazing homes, while men gnashed 
their teeth, enraged that they were powerless to prevent the 
disaster. At length the ruffian band departed, carrying their 
booty with them. 

Scarcely had they passed from view before the men were 
out and across the drawbridge, and on to fight the flames. 
Some of the cottages were too far consumed to be saved, but 
after the flames were extinguished a few were found that could 
be used with some thatching. 

Among these was the house of Jacques D'Arc. 



[42] 




CHAPTER IV 

The Aftermath 

"Sweet she is in words and deeds, 
Fair and white as the white rose." 

"La Mystere du Siege d'Orleans." 

THERE was anguish in the eyes of Isabeau Romee as 
she crossed the drawbridge from the castle, and went 
slowly with her children to the ruined village. Other 
women about her wept, or gave vent to their despair in loud 
outcries; hers was the deeper grief that knows not tears. 

And in what a state of desolation was the hamlet and its 
surroundings ! The men at arms had plundered, ravaged, and 
burnt. Unable to exact ransom from the inhabitants, be- 
cause of their timely arrival at the castle, it was evidently the 
design of the marauders to destroy what they could not carry 
off. The newly sown fields were trampled; the blossoming 
orchards blasted; those houses that had been rescued from the 
flames were badly damaged, and the entire village and its neigh- 
bour, Greux, had been sacked and pillaged. Upon what were 
the people to live? That was the question that confronted 

[43] 



JOAN OF ARC 

them. Jacques D'Arc came to his wife as she stood in front 
of their cottage. 

"The house still remains to us, Isabeau," he said comfort- 
ingly. "The roof can be thatched so that we can soon be in it 
again. We will send to our market town of Neuf chateau for 
bread and grain. Did you look well to the money?" 

"Yes, Jacques." Isabeau took a bag from the folds of her 
gown, and handed it to him. It contained a small sum of 
money hoarded against just such an emergency as the present. 
Her husband took it with brightening countenance. 

"Come now, 'tis not so bad," he said. "We will send at once 
for the grain, that the fields may be resown without delay; and 
for bread that we may live. We shall do well." 

"Yes," agreed his wife, but she looked at her children. And 
then, as though with that look her woe must forth, she turned 
upon him in a passionate outburst : "In all your life, Jacques, 
in all my life we have known naught but war. Must my chil- 
dren too live always in the midst of strife? Must they too sow 
for soldiers to reap? Build, for men-at-arms to burn? Be 
hunted like wild beasts, and killed if they cannot pay ransom? 
Must they too count on nothing; neither their goods, nor their 
lives? Oh, Jacques, must France always be torn by war?" 

"You are beside yourself with sorrow, Isabeau," chided 
Jacques but the gentleness of his tone took away the sting of 
the words. " 'Tis no time to give way now. There is much 
to be done. We can but take up our burden, and do the best 
we can. With God lies the issue." 

"True, Jacques, true." Isabeau pulled herself together 
sharply. "You are right; 'tis no time for grief. There is in- 

[44] 



THE AFTERMATH 

deed much to be done. Jeanne, do you take your little sister, 
and care for her while I see if aught of our stores has been over- 
looked. Many will there be for whom provision must be 
made." 

With this the brave woman gave the little Catherine into 
Jeanne's keeping, while she went into the cottage. Resolutely 
winking back her own tears Jeanne took the weeping little girl 
to a tree, and sat down under it, drawing the child into her lap. 
Pierre followed her, Jacquemin and Jean going with their 
father to help him. Soon Mengette and Hauviette joined the 
D'Arc children, and presently all the boys and girls of the 
village found their way there, comforting each other and the 
little ones in their charge in whispers. Childhood is elastic, 
and soon under the familiar companionship fright wore away, 
and the young folks began to relate their experiences in sub- 
dued but excited tones. 

"I saw a black Burgundian as big as a giant," declared Colin. 
"Had I had a crossbow and bolt I would have killed him." 

"Pouf ! You were afraid just as the rest of us were," ut- 
tered Pierre scornfully. "Why, even the men did not try to 
fight, so many were the enemy. And if they could do naught 
neither could you." 

"The men could not fight without weapons, Pierre," spoke 
Jeanne quickly. "They had none in the fields." 

"Myself, I shall be a man-at-arms," went on Colin boast- 
ingly. "I shall wear armour, and ride a horse; and I shall go 
into France to help drive the Godons * out of it." 

Jeanne looked at him with sparkling eyes. 

i Godons — A term applied to the English. 

[45] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Yes," she cried eagerly. " 'Tis what should be done. Oh ! 
I would like to go too. Why do they not stay in their own 
country?" 

"You?" Colin began to laugh. "You are a girl, Jeanne 
D'Arc, and girls go not to war. They can not fight." 

"I could." A resolute light came into the little maid's eyes, 
and her lips set in a firm line. "I know I could." At this the 
others joined Colin in his laughter, and the boy cried gaily: 

"I should like to see you. Oh, wouldn't the Godons run 
when they saw you?" 

Jeanne opened her lips to reply, but just then she heard the 
voice of her mother calling to her. So, shaking her finger at 
Colin, she rose obediently and went toward the cottage. Near 
the door stood her father gazing intently at a long rod that he 
held in his hand. So absorbed was he that he did not heed her 
approach. The little girl touched him lightly on the arm. 

"What is it, father?" she asked gently. "Are you grieving 
over the cattle and the goods?" 

Her father looked up with a start. 

"I grieve, yes, my little one. But 'tis not so much about 
present ills as a future burden which we must bear. I know 
not how it is to be met. This rod, as you know, is the taille 
stick, and in July comes the tax which I must collect from Dom- 
remy and Greux. I like not to think about it, so heavy will it 
seem after the misfortune that has come upon these two vil- 
lages." 

There were many duties that fell to the village elder (doyen) , 
especially in troubled times. It was for him to summon the 
mayor and the aldermen to the council meetings, to cry the 

[46] 



THE AFTERMATH 

decrees, to command the watch day and night, to guard the 
prisoners. It was for him also to collect taxes, rents, and 
feudal dues. An ungrateful office at any time, but one that 
would be doubly so in a ruined country. Jeanne knew that it 
was her father's duty to collect the taxes, but she had not known 
that it might be a distasteful task. Now she looked curiously 
at the stick. 

"Why does it have the notches upon it, father?" she asked. 

" 'Tis to show the amount due, my little one. There are 
two tailles : 1 la taille seigneuriale, which is paid serfs to their 
lord ; and la taille royale, which is paid to the King. We, be- 
ing directly subject to the King, pay la taille royale. The 
gentle Dauphin has much need of money, Sire Robert de Baud- 
ricourt of Vaucouleurs has told me. But the impost will be 
hard to meet after what has befallen us." He sighed. 

At this moment Jacques D'Arc was not a prepossessing 
sight. His clothes were dusty and begrimed with soot; his 
face and hands were black; but through the soot and grime 
shone the light of compassion for the burden which the people 
would have to bear. Jeanne saw naught of the soiled clothing 
or the blackened face and hands ; she saw only that her father 
was troubled beyond the loss of his goods and cattle. Quickly 
she threw her arms about his neck, and drew his face down to 
hers. 

"I would there were no tax, father," she said wistfully. 

"I would so too, my little one," sighed he. "But there! 
wishing will not make it so. You have comforted me, Jeanne. 
But your mother is calling. Let us go to her." 

iFrom this word we have the English term "tally." 

[47] 



JOAN OF ARC 

With her hand in his they went into the house, where Jacques 
deposited the stick in a corner. Isabeau met them, a pleased 
expression illuminating her countenance. 

"See," she cried, holding up a great loaf of black brea 1. 
" 'Twas in the back part of the oven where it was not seen. 
Take it to your playmates, Jeanne, and give to each of them a 
piece of it. Children bear fasting but ill, and it will be long 
ere we have bread from Neuf chateau !" 

Jeanne took the loaf gladly and hastened to her playmates. 
She knew that they were hungry, for none of them had eaten 
since early morning. Her appearance with the bread was 
greeted with cries of joy. Bread was a commonplace the day 
before; now it had become something precious. So little are 
blessings prized until they are gone. 

The loaf was large, but even a large loaf divided into many 
pieces makes small portions. These were eaten eagerly by the 
children, and the youngest began to cry for more. Jeanne had 
foreseen that this would be the case, so had not eaten her 
share. 

iQuietly now she divided it among the smallest tots, giv- 
ing each a morsel. Shamefacedly Pierre plucked her by the 
sleeve. 

"You have had none," he remonstrated. "And I — I have 
eaten all that you gave to me." 

"That is well, Pierrelot." His sister smiled at him reas- 
suringly. "I shall eat when the bread comes from the market 
town. We must go to the castle now. Mother said that we 
were to go there after we had eaten. Every one is to sleep 
there to-night." 

[48] 



THE AFTERMATH 

"But there are no beds," broke in Colin in an aggrieved 
tone. 

"No, Colin; there are no beds, but even so floors are better 
than the fields. There would be no safety outside the walls 
on account of the wolves." 

"Wolves?" Colin whitened perceptibly, and the children 
huddled closer together. "I did not think of wolves. Is there 
in truth danger?" 

"The men fear so, because some of the cattle and sheep were 
trampled to death by the others, and their carcasses may draw 
them. We are to use the castle until the houses are thatched." 

The arrangements were as Jeanne had said. The nights 
were to be spent in the safety of the castle's confines, while the 
days were to be devoted to the rebuilding of the village, and 
the resowing of the fields. Thus did the peasants with brave 
resignation once more take up their lives. For, no matter how 
adverse Fate may be, life must be lived; misfortune must be 
met and overcome. 

And the times that followed were such as to try the endur- 
ance of the unfortunate inhabitants of Domremy to the utmost. 
It was the season of the year when there was a scarcity of pro- 
visions everywhere. From early Spring until the reaping of 
the new crops the stock of food in a rural community is at its 
lowest; so, though many villages of the valley shared their 
stores with their unfortunate neighbors their own needs had 
to be taken into consideration, therefore it came about that 
Famine reared his ugly head in the linked villages of Greux and 
Domremy. Many of the cruelly despoiled peasants died of 
hunger. 

[49] 



JOAN OF ARC 

One day Jacques D'Arc gathered his family about him. 
They were in their own home by this time, but its furnishings 
were of the rudest. Before Jacques on the table lay a single 
loaf of bread, and by it stood a pail of water. He looked at 
them sadly. 

" "Tis our last loaf," he said, "and of provision we have 
naught else. So this is our last meal, for I know not where 
another can be forthcoming. We will eat to-day; to-morrow 
we must do as we can. Take in thankfulness, therefore, what 
lies before us." 

With this he cut the loaf into seven parts, giving a portion 
to his wife first, then one to each of his children except Jeanne. 
Hers he kept beside his own. When all had been served he 
turned to her. 

"Come here, my little one," he said. 

Timidly, for there was something in his tone that she did not 
understand, the little maid went to his side. Jacques encircled 
her with his arm. 

"Have you broken your fast to-day, my child?" 

Jeanne blushed, and hung her head as though guilty of wrong 
doing, but did not reply. 

"You have not," he asserted. "Yesterday Pierre saw you 
give all of your portion to your sister. The day before you 
kept but a small part for yourself, giving Catherine the rest. 
Is it not so?" 

"Yes, father; but I go to the church and pray; then I do not 
need food." Jeanne took courage as she told this, and raising 
her head looked at him bravely. "I do not feel very hungry." 

"Fasting is good for the soul, my child, but too much of it is 

[50] 



THE AFTERMATH 

ill for the body. Stay, therefore, beside me that your father 
may see you eat your share." 

"But, father," she began protestingly. He interrupted her: 

"Eat," he commanded. When Jacques spoke in that tone 
his children knew that resistance was useless, so silently Jeanne 
ate her portion. Nor would he permit her to leave his side 
until every crumb was swallowed. She did not sit again at 
table, but went to the open door and gazed down the highroad 
through tear-blinded eyes. Her heart was very full. Father 
and child were in close accordance, and she knew that he suffered 
because of his family's misery. So down the valley she gazed 
wishing that she might do something to help him. 

The valley had regained much of its loveliness. The trees 
had leaved again ; the fields were green with the new crops, and 
the gardens gave promise of later abundance. There were still 
black gaps among the dwellings, however ; significant reminders 
of the visit of the marauders. Suddenly as the little maid stood 
leaning against the door, something down the road caused her 
to start violently, and lean forward eagerly. 

"Father," she cried shrilly. 

"Yes, Jeanne," he answered apathetically. 

"There are cattle and sheep coming down the highroad. 
They look like ours. What does it mean?" 

Instantly Jacques sprang to his feet and hastened to the 
door. One look and he gave a great shout. 

"They are ours," he cried in ringing tones. "Friends, neigh- 
bours, come and see ! The cattle have come back." 

From out of the cottages ran the people, incredulity turning 
to joy as their sight verified Jacques' cry. The wildest excite- 

[51] 



JOAN OF ARC 

ment prevailed as the flocks and herds in charge of a number of 
soldiers commanded by a young man-at-arms drew near. 
From him they learned what had happened. 

When the lady of the castle, she who had gone to live with 
her spouse at the ducal court of Nancy, heard of the raid that 
had been made upon the villages, she protested to her kinsman, 
the Count of Vaudemont, against the wrong done to her, as she 
was the lady of Domremy and Greux. 

Now the place to which the chief of the marauding band, 
Henri d'Orley, had taken the cattle and plunder was the Cha- 
teau of Doulevant, which was under the immediate suzerainty 
of the lady's kinsman. As soon, therefore, as he received her 
message he sent a man-at-arms with soldiers to recapture the 
animals and the booty. This was done; not, however, without 
a fight, in which the young commander was victorious ; and so 
he had brought the cattle home. 

With tears and cries of joy the husbandmen welcomed them. 
There was food in plenty, too, so the village rejoiced, and life 
bade fair to be bright once more. Only the wise ones shook 
their heads ominously. For were they not likely to lose the 
beasts forever on the morrow? 

Thus the days passed in the valley; nights of terror; dreams 
of horror; with war everywhere around; but Jeanne grew and 
blossomed as the lily grows from the muck of a swamp. 



[52] 




CHAPTER V 

Jeanne's Vision 

"Thou hast hid these things from the wise and 'prudent 
and revealed them unto babes." 

St. Matthew 11 : 25. 

THE summer gave place to winter; winter in turn was 
succeeded by spring, and again it was summer. 
Though there were raids in distant parts of the valley, 
and wild rumors and false alarms, Domremy was mercifully 
spared a second visitation. A strict watch was still kept, how- 
ever, for glitter of lance along the highroad, or gleaming among 
the trees of the forest, but life resumed its tranquil aspect. 
The men toiled in the fields or the vineyards ; women spun and 
wove, and looked after their households; children played or 
tended the herds and flocks on the common as of yore. 

One warm afternoon in late July Jeanne, with others of her 
playmates, was on the uplands watching the flocks nibble the 
short green grass. The boys and girls were scattered over the 
uplands, but Mengette and Hauviette sat with Jeanne under 

[53] 



JOAN OF ARC 

the shade of a tree. The three friends were never very far 
apart, and as usual their small fingers were busied with the 
threads of their distaffs. 

It was a delicious afternoon. The air, though warm, was 
soft and balmy, and fragrant with the perfume of wild mi- 
gnonette and linden flowers. In the fields the ripened wheat 
rippled in the breeze like a yellow sea, and scarlet poppies made 
great splotches of color against the golden heads. The Meuse 
flowed sluggishly through dense masses of reeds and bushes, 
almost hidden by their foliage. A lovely scene, for the Valley 
of Colors, always beautiful, was never more so than in Sum- 
mer. A busy scene, too; for men and boys were working in 
the fields and vineyards, either cradling the ripened grain, or 
tying up the vines, heavy with bunches of grapes. 

"The sheep grow restless," spoke Jeanne suddenly, as she 
noticed that some of the animals were beginning to stray apart 
from their fellows. "They have nipped the grass clean here. 
'Tis time to move them." 

"And I grow sleepy," cried Mengette, yawning. "We have 
been here since early morning, so 'tis no wonder. If I keep 
on pulling threads from this distaff I shall do like Colin yon- 
der: lie down on the grass and go to sleep." 

"He ought not to sleep while he has the sheep to attend to," 
declared Hauviette, shaking her head. "They might stray into 
the vineyards, or the forest, and he would be none the wiser." 

"He knows that we would not let them if we saw them," said 
Jeanne. "I think he depends on us to look after them, though 
his flock is the largest one here. He ought not to be sleeping if 
we move our sheep away." 

[54] 



JEANNE'S VISION 

She arose as she spoke and went quickly over to where Colin 
lay stretched out on the grass. Jeanne had grown taller in the 
year that had passed. "She shot up like a weed," her mother 
commented as she lengthened the girl's red woolen frocks. 
There had come an expression of thoughtfulness into her face, 
and her eyes seemed larger and brighter, holding a look of won- 
derment as though she were puzzling over many things; but 
there was no change in her gayety and high spirits. The sleep- 
ing boy opened his eyes drowsily as she shook him. 

"Wake, Colin," she cried. "Wake, and attend to what I 
tell you. We are going to take our sheep further afield. You 
must wake to look after yours." 

But Colin pulled away from her grasp, and settled down for 
another nap. Jeanne shook him again vigorously. 

"You must wake, you lazy boy," she cried. "What would 
your father say to you should aught happen to the sheep? 
And we are going to move ours." 

Colin sat up reluctantly at this, rubbing his eyes, and mut- 
tering discontentedly. So drowsy did he appear that Jeanne 
realized that some sort of expedient must be used to rouse him. 

"There stands a cluster of linden flowers yonder on the edge 
of the forest, Colin. They are unusually pretty, and I want 
them. Your mother wants some, too. I heard her tell you to 
bring her some from the fields. See if you can get to them 
before I do." 

"It's too hot to run," murmured the boy. "It's just like a 
girl to want a race when it's hot. I'd rather sit still." 

"But that is just what you must not do if you want to keep 
awake," persisted Jeanne, who knew that Colin would go to 

[55] 



JOAN: OF ARC 

napping again if she left him as he was. "Come on! You 
never have beaten me at a race, and you can't do it to-day." 

"Aw! I've never tried very hard," grumbled Colin, getting 
to his feet reluctantly. "I'll run, but I'd much rather stay here. 
I don't see why girls want to pester a fellow so, anyway. And 
why do you want to take the sheep elsewhere? They'll do well 
enough right here. Where did you say the flowers were?" 

"Yonder." Jeanne indicated a large cluster of the yellow 
linden flowers growing near an oak thicket on the edge of the 
wood. These flowers grew in great abundance around the 
village. "Girls," turning toward her friends, "Colin thinks 
that he can beat me running to that bunch of linden blossoms." 

"The idea," laughed Mengette teasingly. "Why, he can't 
beat any of us; not even little Martin yonder, who is half his 
size," indicating a small boy whose flock browsed just beyond 
Colin's sheep. "We'll all run just to show him. Besides, it's 
the very thing to keep us from getting sleepy. Get in line, 
everybody. Come on, Martin. I'll be the starter. There! 
You will all start at three. Attention! Attention! One, 
two, three, — Go !" And laughing merrily they were off. 

Now Jeanne often ran races with her playmates. It was a 
frequent diversion of the children when they attended the 
animals on the uplands, care being always exercised to run in a 
direction that would bring no alarm to the flocks. Jeanne was 
very fleet of foot, as had been proven on more than one occasion. 
This afternoon she ran so swiftly, so easily, so without conscious 
effort on her part that it seemed as though she were upborne by 
wings. Reaching the flowers quite a few moments ahead of 
her companions she bent over them, inhaling their perfume 

[56] 



JEANNE'S VISION 

with a sense of rapture that she had never before experienced. 
Hauviette was the first one after her to reach the goal. 

"Oh, Jeanne," she cried, gazing at her friend with wonder. 
"I never saw any one run as you did. Why, your feet seemed 
scarcely to touch the ground." 

"Jeanne always runs as though she were flying," spoke 
Mengette now coming up. "Anyway I'm glad that Colin 
didn't beat us. He's 'way behind us all, for here is Martin 
before him. For shame, Colin," she cried, laughing, as the boy 
lumbered up to them. Colin was not noted for fleetness of 
foot. "Not only did Jeanne outstrip you, but Hauviette, 
Martin and I did likewise. All of us got here before you. 
(You didn't stand a chance for those flowers, even if Jeanne 
had not run." 

"I wasn't waked up enough to run well," explained Colin, 
rousing to the need of defending himself. 

"Jeanne," broke in little Martin suddenly, "go home. Your 
mother wants you. I heard her calling." 

"Mother wants me," exclaimed the girl in surprise. "Why, 
that's strange ! I never knew her to call me before when I was 
out with a flock. Something must be the matter." 

"Maybe there is," said the lad. "Anyway I heard her 
calling, 'Jeanne! Jeanne!' just like that." 

"Then I must go to her," cried Jeanne. With this she 
turned and left them, hastening in some alarm to the cottage. 
Her mother glanced up in surprise from her sewing as she 
came through the door. 

"Why, child, what brings you home so early?" she cried. 
"Has anything happened to the flocks?" 

[57] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Did you not call me, mother?" asked Jeanne innocently. 
"I thought that something was wrong." 

"Call you? No. What made you think that I called you?" 
questioned Isabeau sharply. "You should never leave the 
sheep alone on the uplands. The other children have enough 
to do to mind their own animals without attending to yours. 
What made you think that I called you?" 

"Martin said that he heard you," Jeanne told her simply. 
"He must have tried to trick me, because I beat him and Colin 
in a race. I will go back to the sheep." She started to leave 
the room as she spoke. 

"Martin is a naughty lad," exclaimed Isabeau with some irri- 
tation. "Nay, Jeanne; do not go back. Pierre has just come 
from the fields, and I will send him. You can be of use here. 
I have let you tend the sheep because your father has been so 
busy that he could not spare the boys, and because of it your 
sewing has been neglected. Do you, therefore, take this gar- 
ment and finish the seam while I attend to Catherine. She is 
fretful of late, and does not seem well. Go into the garden, 
where it is cool. I will speak to Pierrelot." 

Obediently the little maid took the garment that her mother 
held out to her, and going into the garden sat down under an 
apple tree. She was quite skillful in sewing. Her mother did 
exquisite needlework, and wished her daughter's ability to equal 
her own. Jeanne wished it too, so took great pains to please 
Isabeau. 

It was quiet in the garden. Quieter than it had been on the 
uplands. There had been merry laughter there, and songs and 
jests from the children. Here there were only the twitter of 

[58] 



JEANNE'S VISION 

birds, the rustle of the leaves in the breeze, and the humming of 
gold belted bees for company. So quiet was it that presently 
some little birds, seeing that they had nothing to fear from the 
small maiden sewing so diligently, flew down from the apple 
tree and began to peck at the grass at her very feet. Jeanne 
smiled as she saw them, and sat quite still so as not to frighten 
them. Soon a skylark rose from the grass in the meadow 
lying beyond the orchard, and in a burst of song flew up, and 
up into the air, mounting higher and higher until he shone a 
mere black dot in the sky. Still singing he began to descend, 
circling as he came earthward, dropping suddenly like an arrow 
straight into the grass, his song ceasing as he disappeared. 

Jeanne had let her work fall into her lap as she watched the 
flight of the bird, now she took it up again and began to sew 
steadily. The air was still athrill with the skylark's melody, 
and the child sewed on and on, every pulse in harmony with 
her surroundings. All at once something caused her to look up. 

There was a change of some kind in the atmosphere. What 
it was she could not tell, but she was conscious of something 
that she did not understand. She glanced up at the sky, but 
not a cloud marred its azure. It was as serene, as dazzling as 
it had been all day. Bewildered by she knew not what she 
picked up her sewing again, and tried to go on with it, but she 
could not. She laid down the garment, and once more glanced 
about her. As she did so she saw a light between her and the 
church. 

It was on her right side, and as it came nearer to her it grew 
in brightness. A brightness that was dazzling. She had never 
seen anything like it. Presently it enveloped her. Thrilled, 

[59] 



JOAN OF ARC 

trembling, awed, too frightened to move, the little maid closed 
her eyes to shut out the glory that surrounded her. And then, 
from the midst of the radiance there came a voice ; sweeter than 
the song of the skylark, sweeter even than the chime of the 
bells she loved so well. It said: 

"Be good, Jeanne, be good! Be obedient, and go frequently 
to church. I called thee on the uplands, but thou didst not 
hear. Be good, Jeanne, be good." 

That was all. The voice ceased. Presently the light less- 
ened; it faded gradually, and soon ceased to glow. The little 
girl drew a long breath, and fearfully lifted her eyes. There 
was naught to be seen. The garden looked the same as before. 
The little birds still pecked at her feet, the leaves still rustled in 
the breeze, the church wore its usual aspect. Could she have 
fallen asleep and dreamed, she asked herself. 

At this moment Isabeau called to her from the door of the 
cottage : 

"Take Catherine, Jeanne," she said. "I do not know what 
ails the child. She frets so. I will brew a posset. Do you 
attend to her a few moments. Why, what ails you, my little 
one?" she broke off abruptly as Jeanne came to her. "Is aught 
amiss? You look distraught." 

Jeanne opened her lips to reply. She thought to tell her 
mother of the wonderful thing that had happened, and then, 
something in Isabeau's expression checked the words. Per- 
haps the good woman was unduly worried. She was in truth 
overburdened with the cares of her household. Little Cath- 
erine was ailing, and an ailing child is always exacting. What- 
ever it may have been, Jeanne found the words checked on her 

[60] 



JEANNE'S VISION 

lips, and was unable to relate what had occurred. A girl 
trembling on the brink of womanhood is always shy and timid 
about relating the thoughts and emotions that fill her. The 
unusual experience was such as needed a sympathetic and 
tender listener. The mother was too anxious over the younger 
child to be in a receptive mood for such confidences. So when 
she said again: 

"Is anything amiss, Jeanne?" The little girl only shook her 

head, and said in a low tone : 

"No, mother." 

"I dare say that the trick that Martin played upon you has 
upset you," commented Isabeau. "You ran the race, and 
then ran home thinking that something was wrong with us here. 
It was a mean trick, though done in sport. I shall speak to his 
mother about it. The boy goes too much with that naughty 

Colin." 

Jeanne started. The voice had said that it had called her 
on the uplands. Could it be that that was what Martin had 

heard? 

If so, then it could not have been a dream. It had really 
happened. She found voice to protest timidly : 

"Perhaps he did not mean to trick me, mother. Perhaps he 
really thought that he heard you calling me." 

"Pouf, child! How could he, when I did not call? There! 
a truce to the talk while I brew the posset. I hope that Cath- 
erine is not coming down with sickness." 

She hurried into the kitchen, while Jeanne, wondering 
greatly at what had taken place, took her little sister into the 
garden, and sat down under another tree. 

[61] 




CHAPTER VI 

Jeanne's Harsh Words 

"The miracle of this girl's life is best honored by the 
simple truth" 

Sainte-Beiive. 

SO, half from shyness, half from fear of ridicule, the child 
told no one of her strange experience, but often did the 
thought of the happening come to her, and she wondered 
what it could mean. Indeed so much did she dwell upon it 
that Mengette rallied her upon her abstraction. 

"What has come over you, Jeanne?" asked the latter one day 
when she and Jeanne in company with other girls and women 
were at the river engaged in one of the periodical washings of 
the village. "Twice have I spoken to you, yet you have not 
answered. Has your mother been scolding you?" 

"Mother scolding? Why, no!" Jeanne glanced up in sur- 
prise. "There is naught the matter, Mengette. I was just 
thinking." 

"Of what?" questioned her friend, but as Jeanne made no 

[62] 



JEANNE'S HARSH WORDS 

reply she lowered her voice and said with some asperity: 
"You are thinking too much, Jeanne D'Arc. You are not a bit 
like yourself, and every one is noticing it. Why, when you 
come to a washing you come to laugh, to sing, to talk, and to 
have a good time ; but you do naught but mope." And Men- 
gette gave the garments she was washing a vicious thump with 
the clothes-beater. 

"Well, I haven't moped so much but that my clothes are as 
clean as the ones you are washing," retorted Jeanne, holding 
up some linens for inspection, and regarding her friend with a 
quizzical glance. "Mengette, those poor garments will be 
beaten to a thread if you pound them much harder." 

Mengette let her paddle drop, and pushed back her hair with 
her wet hands. 

"I'd willingly beat them to a thread to hear you laugh, 
Jeanne. Now come up closer, and I will tell you something 
that Hauviette told me last night. I don't want any one else 
to hear it." 

So, wooed for the time being from her thoughts, Jeanne 
moved her washing table closer to her friend's, and the two 
girls were soon deep in a low toned conversation, punctuated by 
many peals of merriment. All along the bank of river the 
village women and girls kneeled over their box-shaped washing 
tables, open at one side, set in the water's edge, talking as they 
worked, or sometimes singing roundels and catches. As Men- 
gette had said, the pleasure of washing lay in the meeting of 
many women and girls, and in the chatting, laughter and news- 
telling between the thump, thump of the clothes-beaters. The 
sound of the paddles could be heard along the valley as they 

[63] 



JOAN OF ARC 

beat and turned and dipped and turned again the coarse gar- 
ments of their families. Thus labor that would have proved 
irksome performed by two or three alone was lightened by the 
communion and fellowship of the many. 

It was pleasant by the river, despite the heat of the day. 
Bluebells and tall white plumes of spiraea vied with the brown- 
ish-yellow of mignonette and the rose of meadow pink in em- 
broidering a delicate tracery of color against the vivid green 
of the valley. The smell of new mown hay made the air fra- 
grant, and hills and meadows smiled under a cloudless sky. 
The workers laughed, and sang, and chatted, plying always the 
paddles ; but at length the washing was finished. The sun was 
getting low behind the Domremy hills when the last snowy 
pieces were stretched upon the grass to bleach, and then, piling 
large panniers high with the garments that were dried the 
women lifted them to their backs, thrusting their arms into the 
plaited handles to steady them, and so started homeward. 
Isabeau Romee lingered to speak to her daughter. 

"Leave the tables and paddles, little one," she said, as she 
saw Jeanne preparing to take them from the water. "I will 
send the boys for them, and you have done enough for one day. 
Know you where the lads are? I have seen naught of them 
since dinner." 

"Father said that since the hay was cut, and there was no 
sign of rain, they might have the afternoon for themselves, 
mother. I think they went somewhere down the river to fish." 

" 'Tis most likely," said Isabeau. "I hope that they will not 
meet the Maxey boys anywhere. If they do, home will they 
come all bruised and bleeding, for never do boys from this side 

[64] 



JEANNE'S HARSH WORDS 

of the river meet those from the Lorraine side that there is not a 
fight. I like it not." 

" 'Tis because the boys of Domremy and Greux are Armag- 
nacs, and those of Maxey-sur-Meuse are Burgundians," ex- 
plained Jeanne, who did not know that ever since the world has 
stood boys of one village always have found a pretext to fight 
lads of another, be that pretext the difference between Armag- 
nacs and Burgundians, or some other. "How can they help 
it, mother, when even grown people fight their enemies when 
they meet?" 

"True; 'tis no wonder that they fight when there is naught 
but fighting in the land." Isabeau sighed. "Would there 
were no war. But there, child, let's talk of it no more. I 
weary of strife, and tales of strife. Since the boys are some- 
where along the river they needs must pass the bridge to come 
home. Do you, therefore, wait here for them, and tell them 
that they are to bring the tables and the paddles home. I will 
go on to get the supper." 

"Very well, mother," assented Jeanne. So while her mother 
went back to the cottage, the great pannier of clothes towering 
high above her head, the little girl rinsed the box-shaped wash- 
ing tables carefully, then drew them high on the banks; after 
which she sat down near the bridge to watch for her brothers. 

She did not have long to wait. Suddenly there came shouts 
and cries from the Lorraine side of the river, and soon there 
came Jean and Pierre, her brothers, followed by other Dom- 
remy lads running at full speed, and in their wake came many 
Maxey boys, hurling insults and stones at their fleeing adver- 
saries. 

[65] 



JOAN OF ARC 

On Pierre's head was a long, deep gash that was bleeding 
freely, and at that sight Jeanne burst into tears. She could 
not bear the sight of blood, and a fight made her cower and 
tremble. At this juncture there came from the fields Gerardin 
d'Epinal, a Burgundian, and the only man in Domremy who 
was not of the King's party. He gave a great laugh as he saw 
the boys of his own village running from those of Maxey. 
Then knowing how loyal Jeanne was to the Dauphin, he cried 
teasingly : 

"That is the way that the Burgundians and English are 
making the 'Little King of Bourges' run. (A term applied to 
the Dauphin Charles by his enemies.) Soon he will be made 
to leave France, and flee into Spain, or perhaps Scotland, and 
then we will have for our Sovereign Lord, Henry King of 
England and France." 

At that Jeanne grew white. Her tears ceased to flow, and 
she stood up very straight and looked at him with blazing 
eyes. 

"I would that I might see thy head struck from thy body," 
she said in low intense tones. Then, after a moment, she 
crossed herself and added devoutly: "That is, if it were God's 
will, Gerardin d'Epinal." 

The words were notable, for they were the only harsh words 
the girl used in her life. Long afterward Gerardin d'Epinal 
told of them. Now he had the grace to blush, for he had not 
meant to rouse the little creature to such passion. With a light 
laugh he turned and went his way, saying: 

"Don't take such things so much to heart, Jeanne." 

The Domremy boys had reached their own side of the river 

[66] 



JEANNE'S HARSH WORDS 

by this time, and therefore were safe from further attack from 
their rivals. Now they gathered about Jeanne, for they had 
heard what she had said to Gerardin. 

"How did you come to speak so to him, Jeanne?" cried Jean. 

Jeanne hung her head. 

"I don't know," she answered. "Yes ; it was because of what 
he said about the gentle Dauphin; and too, I think, because of 
the cut in Pierre's head." And with that she put her arm about 
her brother, and drew him to her. "Does it hurt much?" she 
asked tenderly, "Come ! let me wash it off before we go home. 
Mother likes not to see blood." 

"And neither do you," exclaimed Pierre, noting her pale face. 
"Don't bother about it, Jeanne. It doesn't hurt very much." 
He shrugged his shoulders with assumed indifference. 

"Mother will not like it because you have been fighting," 
went on the girl gravely. 

"We didn't mean to, Jeanne," broke in Jean quickly. "We 
came to the river to fish, but some of the Burgundian boys came 
to the other side, and began to call us names, saying that we 
didn't dare to come over and fight. We ran back to the village, 
and told the other boys who came back with us to show the 
Maxeys that we did dare, but not one of them was to be seen. 
So we crossed the bridge to the Lorraine side anyway, and—" 
"They set upon us," interrupted Pierre excitedly. "They 
had hidden in the bushes and behind trees, and as soon as we 
were fairly among them they threw themselves upon us. 'Twas 
an ambuscade just like when Roland was set upon at Ronces- 
valles." 

"And did the Domremy boys give a good account of them- 

[67] 



JOAN OF ARC 

selves?" queried Jeanne anxiously. "And how did you get the 
gash?" 

Jean looked embarrassed. 

"I did it," he said at length. "It was like Olivier did to 
Roland. You see we were all so mixed up when the Maxey 
boys fell upon us that we couldn't tell which were our boys, and 
which were not. So, in striking out with a stick that I carried, 
I thwacked Pierrelot on the head instead of one of them as I 
intended. But I made up for it afterward; didn't I, Pierre?" 

Pierre laughed as he nodded affirmation. 

"So did I," he said. "I knew that Jean would feel bad about 
hitting me, so we both made the Burgundians pay for it. Do 
we have to carry the tables and the paddles home, Jeanne? Or 
aren't you through washing yet?" 

"Yes ; we have finished, Pierre. Mother said for you boys to 
carry the tables home, but since you are hurt I will help Jean 
with them." 

"Pouf! why, 'tis nothing but a scratch," cried Pierrelot. 
"And you have been washing, too. I'll carry my share, 
Jeanne. Now let's be getting home. I'm hungry as a wolf." 

"So am I," declared Jean. 

The supper was waiting when they reached the cottage, and 
the boys' story of the ambuscade was related again to their 
father and mother, who listened sympathetically. In the midst 
of the recital Jeanne slipped out, and went across the garden 
to the little church to vespers. 

There was no one in the church but the Cure, and the good 
priest smiled as his little parishioner entered. He was always 
sure of one auditor, whatever the state of the weather, for 

[68] 



JEANNE'S HARSH WORDS 

Jeanne attended all services. In one transept was an image 
of Saint Catherine, the patron saint of young girls, and before 
this the child knelt in prayer. It was deemed presumptuous 
for Christians to address God directly in prayer at this period, 
so that prayers were made to the saints, who were asked to make 
intercession for the suppliant. So Jeanne made her supplica- 
tion to the saint, and then took her seat, for the people were 
coming in for the service. 

Messfre Guillaume Frontey, the priest, led them through a 
short benediction service, and comforted and refreshed, — 
Jeanne had been much wearied by the day's work and religion 
was to her as the breath of life, — the child passed out into the 
garden. 

There was a sweet coolness in the evening air, and the dark- 
ness was soft and agreeable after the glare of the summer sun. 
So pleasant was the night that Jeanne stopped under an apple 
tree, loath to enter the warm cottage. Presently, through the 
darkness, there came the light that she had seen before. A 
light so bright, so glowing in its radiance that she sank to her 
knees awed by the luminosity. She was not so frightened as 
when it had come before, yet still she dared not lift her eyes to 
gaze upon its wonder. Tremblingly she waited for the voice 
that she knew would follow. As it spake the bells of the church 
began to ring for compline. Mingled with their chimes 
sounded tones so sweet that her eyes filled at their tenderness : 

"I come from God to help thee live a good and holy life," it 
said. "Be good, Jeanne, and God will aid thee." 

That was all. The light* faded gradually, and when it was 
gone Jeanne rose to her feet. 

[69] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"It was the voice of an angel," she whispered in awed tones. 
"The voice of an angel, and it spoke to me." 

And from that time forth Jeanne D'Arc had no doubt but 
that an angel had spoken to her. To children, especially 
religious little ones, Heaven is always very near, and that one 
of its denizens should come to them does not seem so improbable 
as it does to mature minds. For some time she stood lost in 
wonderment at the miraculous happening, then slowly and 
thoughtfully she went into the cottage, going at once to her 
own little room. 

This room was on the side of the cottage toward the church 
where the eaves sloped low. From her tiny window she could 
see the sacred light on the altar, and with hands clasped, Jeanne 
knelt before the open sash, gazing devoutly upon it. It 
seemed to her that the threshold of Heaven was reached by 
that little church. 



[70] 




CHAPTER VII 

Further Visions 

"Angels are wont to come down to Christians •with- 
out being seen, but I see them." 

Jeanne D'Arc's Own Words. 

J. E. J. Quicheeat, "Condemnation et Rehabilitation 
de Jeanne d'Arc." Vol. I., p. 130. 

FROM this time forth the Voice became frequent. 
Again and again she heard it; chiefly out of doors, in 
the silence and freedom of the fields or garden. In 
time the Heavenly radiance resolved itself into the semblance 
of a man, but with wings and a crown on his head: a great 
angel, surrounded by many smaller ones. The little maid knew 
him by his weapons and the courtly words that fell from his 
lips to be Saint Michael, the archangel who was provost of 
Heaven and warden of Paradise; at once the leader of the 
Heavenly Hosts and the angel of judgment. 

Often had Jeanne seen his image on the pillar of church or 
chapel, in the guise of a handsome knight, with a crown on his 
helmet, wearing a coat of mail and bearing a lance. Some- 

[71] 



JOAN OF ARC 

times he was represented as holding scales. In an old book 
it is written that "the true office of Saint Michael is to make 
great revelations to men below, by giving them holy coun- 
sels." 

In very remote times he had appeared to the Bishop of 
Avranches and commanded him to build a church on Mount 
Tombe, in such a place as he should find a bull hidden by 
thieves; and the site of the building was to include the whole 
area trodden by the bull. The Abbey of Mont-Saint-Michel- 
au-Peril-de-la-Mer was erected in obedience to this command. 

About the time that Jeanne was having these visions the 
English were attacking Mont- Saint-Michel, and the defenders 
of the fortress discomfited them. The French attributed the 
victory to the all-powerful intercession of the archangel. 
Therefore, Saint Michael was in a fair way to become the 
patron saint of the French instead of Saint Denys, who had 
permitted his abbey to be taken by the English. But Jeanne 
knew nothing of what had happened in Normandy. 

The apparition was so noble, so majestic in its appearance 
that at first the little maid was sore afraid, but his counsels were 
so wise and tender that they overcame her fear. 

One day he said to her: "Saint Catherine and Saint Mar- 
garet will come to thee. Act according to their advice ; for they 
are appointed to guide thee and counsel thee in all that thou 
hast to do, and thou mayest believe what they shall say unto 
thee." 

Jeanne was glad when she heard this promise, for she loved 
both these saints. Saint Marguerite was highly honoured in 
the Kingdom of France, where she was a great benefactress. 

[72] 



FURTHER VISIONS 

She was the patron saint of flax spinners, nurses, vellum- 
dressers, and of bleachers of wool. 

Saint Catherine had a church at Maxey on the other side 
of the Meuse, and Jeanne's little sister bore her name. Often 
had she repeated the rhymed prayer that was used in the saint's 
honour throughout the Valley of Colors: 

"Hail, thou holy Catherine, 
Virgin Maid so pure and fine." 

Both the saints were martyrs. Jeanne had heard their 
stories many times from her mother, so she awaited their com- 
ing eagerly. 

It was in the woods, near the Fairy Tree, that they first 
came to her. It was a Saturday, the day held sacred to the 
Holy Virgin, and Jeanne made a little pilgrimage through the 
forest up the hill path beyond Greux to the Oratory of Our 
Lady of Belmont. With her tiny savings the child had bought 
a candle to burn on the altar, and also carried wild flowers to 
make the holy place as fragrant as the forest at its doors. She 
finished her orisons, placed her candle on the altar and laid 
her flowers on the shrine, then slowly started down the hill- 
path. Soon, finding herself near The Gooseberry Spring, she 
knelt upon its brink for a drink from its pellucid waters. It 
was very quiet in the clearing about the Spring, and over the 
grassy space lay a grateful shade. The day was warm, and 
after her drink Jeanne sat down on a natural seat formed by 
the gnarled roots of a tree. Her hands lay loosely, one repos- 
ing in the other in her lap. Her head drooped, and she lost 
herself in thought. 

[73] 



JOAN OF ARC 

All at once an odour, marvellously sweet, diffused itself on 
the air about her. It was a perfume the like of which she had 
never inhaled before. She lifted her head quickly, and drew a 
long deep breath, glancing around her for the blossoms that 
emitted such fragrance. 

As she did so there came a slight rustling of leaves among 
the trees, and from the Heavens there seemed to shoot down- 
ward a splendid effulgence. An unearthly light that flooded 
the place with glory. A look of rapture came into Jeanne's 
face. She rose, and crossed herself devoutly, then curtsied low 
as from the splendor there issued two shining figures, clad like 
queens, with golden crowns on their heads, wearing rich and 
precious jewels. The little maid could not look upon their 
faces by reason of the dazzling brightness that proceeded from 
them, but she knelt and kissed the hem of their garments. 
Gravely the saints returned her salutations, then spoke, naming 
each other to her. So soft and sweet were their tones that 
the sound filled her with a vague happiness, causing her to 
Weep. 

"Daughter of God," they said, "rise, and listen. We come 
to teach thee to live well that thou mayest be prepared for thy 
mission." 

Further they spoke to her, but soon the brilliancy began to 
dim, and Jeanne caught at their garments. 

"Oh, do not leave me," she cried entreatingly. "Take me 
with you." 

"Nay," came the answer. "Thy time is not yet, Daughter 
of God. Thy work is yet to be done." 

With these words the gentle forms disappeared, and Jeanne 

[74] 



FURTHER VISIONS 

flung herself upon the place where they had stood, weeping in 
an anguish of tenderness and longing. 

The saints visited her nearly every day after this. She met 
them everywhere; sometimes in the woods, or near the Spring; 
often they appeared in the little garden close to the precincts 
of the church, and especially did they come when the bells were 
ringing for matins or compline. It was then that she heard 
the sweet words that they spoke most distinctly. So she loved 
the sound of the bells with which the voices mingled. Soon 
she grew to call the visions "My Voices," for the appearance of 
her visitors was always more imperfect to her than the message. 
Their outlines and their lovely faces might shine uncertain in 
the excess of light, but the words were always plain. 

The piety and devotion of the girl deepened into a fervid 
wonder of faith. She put aside the gayety of girlhood, and 
lived a simple, devout, tender life, helping her mother, obeying 
her father, and doing what she could for every one. It seemed 
to her that she was one set apart, subject to the Divine guid- 
ance. Nor did she tell any one of her experiences, but locked 
the Divine secret in her heart, showing forth the tenderness and 
gravity of one who bears great tidings. She became so good 
that all the village wondered at her, and loved her. 

"Jeanne confesses oftener than any of you," the Cure told 
his parishioners reprovingly. "When I celebrate mass I am 
sure that she will be present whether the rest of you are or not. 
Would that more of you were like her! Had she money 
she would give it to me to say masses." The good man sighed. 
Money was not plentiful in Domremy. 

But if she had not money the child gave what she had: flowers 

[75] 



JOAN OF ARC 

for the altars, candles for the saints, and loving service to all 
about her. She was an apt pupil in the school of her saints, 
and learned well to be a good child before she conned the great 
lesson in store for her. 

"Jeanne grows angelic," Isabeau remarked complacently one 
day to Jacques. "There never was her like. So good, so 
obedient, she never gives me a bit of trouble. And what care 
she takes of her little sister! Catherine has been hard to attend 
this summer, so fretful and ailing as she is, but Jeanne can 
always quiet her. I know not what I should do without her. 
I am the envy of all the women in the village; for, they say, 
there is not another girl so good in the valley." 

But Jacques D'Arc frowned. 

"Too quiet and staid is she for her age," he remarked. 
"Have you marked, Isabeau, that she no longer dances with 
the other children? Nor does she romp, or play games with 
them. And the praying, and the church-going! There is too 
much of it for the child's good," 

"Jacques !" exclaimed his wife in shocked tones. "How can 
you say that? The good Cure commends Jeanne for her de- 
voutness. That can only do her good." 

"Then what is it?" demanded the father impatiently. 
"Could it be that some one is teaching the girl letters, that she 
is so quiet? Learning of that sort works harm to a l&ss." 

His wife shook her head emphatically. 

"She knows not A from B, Jacques. Everything she knows 
is what she has learned from me. I have taught her the Credo, 
the Paternoster, the Ave Marie, and have told her stories of 
the saints: things that every well-taught child should know. 

[76] 



FURTHER VISIONS 

She is skilled, too, in housework. I have seen to that. And 
as for sewing and spinning, there is not her equal in this whole 
valley. There is naught amiss, Jacques. If there is, 'tis more 
likely the harm that she has received from tales of bloodshed 
which every passerby brings of the war. Often do I wish that 
we did not live on the highroad." The good dame shook her 
head as she glanced through the open door of the cottage to the 
great road where even at that moment creaking wains were 
passing laden with the cloths of Ypres and Ghent. 

Often instead of wagons there were men-at-arms, and 
Isabeau feared the glitter of lances. In war it is not assault 
and plundering that takes the heart and saps the courage, but 
the ever present dread that they will happen. Fugitives from 
the wars stopped for bite and sup, and recounted their stories 
which were often of great suffering. Such tales have effect, 
and Isabeau herself being influenced by them did not doubt but 
that her children were moved in like manner. 

"The children hear too much of battles, and the state of 
France," she added. 

"Nay; such things make no lasting impression upon children, 
Isabeau. It is well that they should know something of what 
goes on beyond the valley. Perchance the child is threatened 
with the Falling Sickness. She wears no charm against it." 

It was v an age of superstition. That Jacques D'Arc should 
believe that a charm could ward off epilepsy was only what all 
men believed at the time. He was an austere man, but fond of 
his family, and his daughter's quietness and growing devoutness 
had aroused in him a feeling of uneasiness. 

"There is naught amiss with the child, Jacques," spoke his 

[77] 



JOAN OF ARC 

wife, consolingly. "She would come to me with it if there were. 
She is becoming more thoughtful as she grows older; that is 
all." 

"I like it not," grumbled Jacques, shaking his head as though 
but half convinced. "I much fear that something is wrong. 
It is not fitting that so young a girl should be so pious. Is not 
that a Friar turning in from the highway, Isabeau?" 



[78] 




CHAPTER VIII 

Jeanne Receives a Gift and an Announcement 

"Great hearts alone understand how much glory there 
is m being good. ,y 

A Saying of Old France. 

ISABEAU glanced toward the man who was nearing the 
cottage. He was clad in the frock of the Order of Saint 
Francis, and was carrying a heavy staff. 

" 'Tis one of the Grey Friars," she exclaimed; "and supper 
is not yet started. I must hurry to get it upon the table, for 
he may be hungry." 

"If it is a Grey Friar let him get on to Neufchateau," 
grumbled Jacques. "They have a house there, and 'tis but five 
miles further on." 

"Jacques," ejaculated his wife reprovingly, "what are you 
saying ? The poor father may be weary. If he were a man-at- 
arms you would give him welcome." 

"If he were a man-at-arms he would have something worth 
hearing to tell," retorted Jacques. In spite of his words, how- 
ever, he rose as the friar came to the door, and saluted him but 
with scant courtesy. 

[79] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Pax vobiscum, my son," said the friar humbly. "Perchance 
for the love of God you will give a poor brother of the Order of 
the Blessed Francis somewhat to eat, and a place to abide for 
the night. I have travelled far, and am aweary.'' 

"Enter, father," spoke Jacques shortly. "Supper will soon 
be upon the table, and a bed shall be made for you." 

"Thank you, my son. A benediction upon you, and upon 
your house," returned the priest so mildly that Jacques' man- 
ner softened. He was not usually churlish to guests, unbidden 
though they might be ; but he was anxious and uneasy over his 
daughter, and her fervid zeal for the church caused him to 
regard churchmen with temporary disfavor. At the monk's 
tone, however, he threw wide the door and gave him a seat with 
more show of cordiality. 

The friar had scarcely seated himself before Jeanne entered, 
bearing a flagon of fresh water and a cup which she carried 
directly to him. Bending low before him she said gently: 

"Drink, good father. You must be thirsty." 

"I am, my child." The Franciscan quaffed the water grate- 
fully, saying, as he gave back the cup : "I have travelled many 
leagues, even from Home, where I have been upon a pil- 
grimage." 

"From Rome?" ejaculated Jacques D'Arc, turning round 
with eagerness. "Hear you that, Isabeau? The holy man has 
been to Rome. Hasten with the supper; he must be hungry." 
With this he busied himself to make the priest more comfort- 
able. To make a pilgrimage to Rome cast a glamour of sanc- 
tity about him who made it, and exalted him in the eyes of 
all men. 

[80] 




THE HOLY MAN HAS BEEN TO ROME 



JEANNE RECEIVES A GIFT 

Jeanne smiled as her father and mother bustled about the 
friar, and quietly occupied herself with preparations for the 
supper. It was soon ready, and eaten with all the hearty relish 
of honest, human hunger. After it was over the best place by 
the fire was given the friar — already the evenings were begin- 
ning to grow chill — and the family gathered around him. As 
has been said before, in return for their entertainment travellers 
were expected to regale their hosts with whatsoever news they 
might be possessed of, or with tales of their travels or adven- 
tures. The Franciscan proved to be most agreeable. 

He told of his pilgrimage, and described at length the ap- 
pearance of the holy city. He spoke also of having seen and 
spoken with the holy Colette of Corbie, that famous nun whose 
miracles of healing were then the wonder of the Christian 
world. 

At this they crossed themselves, and were silent for a little 
from very awe from having among them a man who had been 
so favored. Then Isabeau, who was devoted to sacred things 
and saintly legends, said timidly: 

"Perchance, good father, you have about you a relic, or a 
ring that hath been touched by the blessed Sister Colette?" 

"Would that I had," spoke the friar devoutly. "I would 
cherish it above all things, but I have not. It is true, how- 
ever, that I have a ring. It hath not been blessed, nor does it 
possess power to perform miracles. Nathless, it does have 
great virtue, having been made by a holy man, and by reason 
of herbs, which have been curiously intermingled with the 
metal under the influence of the planets, is a sovereign charm 
against the Falling Sickness." 

[81] 



JOAN OF ARC 

Jacques looked up with quick interest. 

"Let us see the ring, messire," he said. "That is, if it please 
you." 

"It pleases me right well," answered the friar, drawing a 
small ring from the bosom of his frock. 

It was of electrum, a kind of brass at this time called the gold 
of the poor. It was an ordinary trifle, but to the peasant and 
his family it was rich and wonderful. There was no stone or 
seal, but a broad central ridge, and two sloping sides engraved 
with three crosses, and the names Jesus and Maria. Such rings 
were common; sometimes instead of the holy names there were 
figures of Saints, the Virgin Mary, or a priest with the chalice. 
A ring, an amulet, a relic that was supposed to be blessed, or to 
have virtue against disease appealed to the marvel loving part 
of their natures, so that the people eagerly sought such articles. 
They desired above all else to possess the precious thing, or that 
they might touch it with some treasured possession that some 
of its virtues might pass into themselves. So now Jacques' eyes 
met those of his wife's in a glance of understanding. Isabeau 
voiced the thought that filled them. 

"Would you sell this ring, good father?" she asked. 

"Nay; it is not for sale. I but showed it in lieu of a precious 
relic. 'Tis but a bauble compared to many holy relics that I 
have seen. Nathless, the ring hath its properties." 

Jacques handed the ring back to him with regret showing 
plainly on his honest face. 

"That I am sorry to hear," he said. "The little one here 
hath no charm against the Falling Sickness, and I am 

[82] 



JEANNE RECEIVES A GIFT 

minded to buy it for her. She has been o'er quiet of late." 

The friar glanced at Jeanne, who had sat listening atten- 
tively to his stories with shining eyes. Then he smiled. 

"If it is for this little maid who waited not to be bidden to 
bring me drink when I was weary and thirsty, I will sell," he 
said. "Nay, not sell; but if ye are so minded to give alms for a 
convent that is being builded by the Sisters of Saint Claire, 
then may you have it. I know in very truth that it will prove 
efficacious against the Falling Sickness." Again the priest 
smiled at Jeanne. There was naught about the pale purity of 
her face that denoted ill health, and therefore the good priest 
might speak with authority. 

Jacques drew the girl to him, and taking the ring from the 
Franciscan fitted it to the third ringer of her left hand. 

"Do you like it, my little one?" he asked. 

Jeanne's eyes glistened. Like most girls she was fond of 
pretty things, and she had never had a ring. To her it was 
very precious. 

"Are you in truth going to get it for me, father?" she cried. 

"Yes." Jacques nodded, pleased that she liked the trifle. 
"Isabeau, give the father the alms he wishes so that we may 
have the ring for the little one. It is given to you by both your 
mother and myself, my child," he continued as Isabeau brought 
forth the alms for the friar. "Wear it as such, and may it 
protect you not only from the Falling Sickness but from other 
ills also." 

At this Jeanne threw her arms about his neck, and kissed 
him, then running to her mother kissed her also. 

[83] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"It is so pretty," she cried. "And see! it hath the two most 
holy names upon it." Her glance rested lovingly upon the 
engraved characters. 

"Let us see it, Jeanne," spoke Pierre. "Sometime," he 
whispered as she came to him to show it, "sometime I am going 
to give you a ring all by myself that shall be prettier than this." 

Jeanne laughed. 

"Just as though any ring could be prettier than this, Pierre- 
lot," she said. "There couldn't be one; could there, Jean?" 

"Nenni." Jean shook his head emphatically as he examined 
the ring critically. "I like it better than the one Mengette 
wears." 

"The Blessed Colette hath a ring which the Beloved Apostle 
gave to her in token of her marriage to the King of kings," now 
spoke the Cordelier. "Many are there who come to Corbie to 
touch it, that they may be healed of their infirmities." 

Thus the talk went on; sometimes of the Saints and their 
miracles, then verging to the war, and the state of the king- 
dom. It was late when at length the family retired. 

Jeanne was delighted with the gift. As a usual thing 
peasants did not bestow presents upon their families. Life 
was too severe in the valley, and necessities too hard to come by 
in the ferment of the war to admit of it. When next her 
Saints appeared, and Saint Catherine graciously touched the 
ring, Jeanne's joy knew no bounds. Thereafter she was wont 
to contemplate it adoringly. But, while the ring might be 
sovereign against epilepsy, it did not rouse her into her oldtime 
joyousness. 

She was very grave, very thoughtful, very earnest at this 

[84] 



JEANNE RECEIVES A GIFT 

time. She went on thinking for others, planning for others, 
sacrificing herself for others, just as always before. She min- 
istered to the sick and to the poor, and gave her bed to the 
wayfarer as always, performing all her duties with sweet exact- 
ness, but she was quiet and abstracted. For her Saints came 
with greater frequency than ever now, and constantly they 
spoke to her of her mission. 

"What can they mean?" she asked herself. "What is it 
that I am to do?" But weeks passed before she was told. 

The smiling summer merged into Autumn, the season of 
heavy rains. Brooks rushed down from the hills, and the 
Meuse was swollen into a torrent, deep and rapid, which over- 
flowed its banks in shallow lagoons. The clouds grew lower, 
leaning sullenly against the Vosges hills. Fogs came down 
thick and clinging. The river was rimed with frost. Snow 
and sleet drove along the Marches, and it was winter. The 
Valley of Colors lay grave, austere, and sad; no longer bril- 
liantly hued, but clothed in a garb of white which gleamed 
palely when the clouds were scattered by the rays of a red, cold 
sun. There was no travel along the highway, and the gray, 
red-roofed villages were forced to depend upon themselves for 
news and social intercourse. 

To all appearance life in the house of Jacques D'Arc went as 
peacefully, as serenely, as that of his neighbors, and in no wise 
differently. There was not one who suspected that Jeanne 
visited with saints and angels ; that she walked with ever listen- 
ing ear for the Voices to tell her what her divine mission was 
to be. No one suspected it, for even her youthful friendships 
continued, and she visited and was visited in turn by Mengette 

[85] 



JOAN OF ARC 

and Hauviette; often passing the night with one or the other 
of them as has been the fashion of girls since the beginning of 
time. Both the girls rallied her on her changed spirits. 

"Every one says that you are the best girl in the village, 
but that you are odd," Hauviette confided to her one day in 
winter when she and Mengette were spending the afternoon 
with Jeanne. 

The latter glanced up from her spinning with a smile. 
"And what do you say, Hauviette?" 

"I say that you are better than any of us," answered her 
friend quickly. "Still," she hesitated, and then spoke abruptly, 
"there is a change though, Jeanne. You are not so lively as 
you were. You never dance, or race with us, or play as you 
were wont to do. What is the matter?" 

"I know," cried Mengette. "She goes to church too much. 
And she prays too often. My! how she does pray! Perrin 
le Drapier told me that when he forgot to ring the bells for 
compline she reproached him for not doing his duty, because she 
loved to pray then." 

"Don't you, Mengette?" asked Jeanne quickly. 

"Oh, yes. Why, of course," answered Mengette. "But I 
don't give the sexton cakes to ring the bells when he forgets 
them. You are getting ready to be a saint, aren't you?" 

Jeanne blushed scarlet at this, and did not speak. 

"She is that already," broke in Hauviette. "Perhaps she 
does not feel like playing or dancing." 

"That's it," spoke Jeanne suddenly, giving her friend a 
grateful glance. "I don't feel like it any more." 

"Then we shan't ask you to do it any more," declared 

[86] 



JEANNE RECEIVES A GIFT 

Hauviette, who loved her dearly. "And you shan't be teased 
about it, either. So there now, Mengette!" 

"Oh, if she doesn't feel like it, that's different," exclaimed 
Mengette, who was fond too of Jeanne in her own fashion. 
"But I do wish you did, Jeanne. There's not half the fun in 
the games now as there was when you played. But I won't 
say anything more about it. You'll feel better about it by and 

by." 

So the matter was not referred to again by the two girls, 
though the change in Jeanne became more and more marked, as 
the days went by. Winter was nearing its close when at last 
she was told what her mission was to be. It was Saint Michael 
who unfolded it to her. 

It was a cold morning, and the little maid had been to early 
mass. There had not been many present, and the house was 
cold, but the Cure smiled tenderly when he saw the small figure 
in its accustomed place, and Jeanne's heart glowed in the sun- 
shine of his approval. So she did not mind the chill of the 
church, but started on her return home in an uplifted and 
exalted frame of mind. To the child, nourished on sacred 
things, religion was as bread and meat. And then, all at once, 
the Light came. 

It was of unusual splendor, and glowed with hues that stained 
the snow covered earth with roseate tints like those of the roses 
of Paradise. From the dazzling effulgence emerged the form 
of Saint Michael, clothed in grandeur ineffable. In his hand 
he held a flaming sword, and around him were myriads of 
angels, the hosts of Heaven whose leader he was. The old 
fear fell upon Jeanne at sight of his majesty, and she sank 

[87] 



JOAN OF ARC 

tremblingly upon her knees, covering her face with her hands. 
But when the tender, familiar: 

"Be good, Jeanne, and God will help thee," fell from his 
lips, she ceased a little to tremble. 

Then with infinite gentleness the archangel began to speak to 
her of France, and the "pity there was for it." He told her 
the story of her suffering country : how the invader was master 
in the capital; how he was all powerful in the country north 
of the Loire ; how internally France was torn and bleeding by 
the blood feud between the Duke of Burgundy and the dis- 
inherited Dauphin; how great nobles robbed the country which 
they should have defended, and how bands of mercenaries 
roved and plundered. The rightful king soon must go into 
exile, or beg his bread, and France would be no more. 

The young girl's heart already yearned over the woes of 
her distressed country, but now it swelled almost to bursting 
as she heard the recital from angelic lips. The "great pity 
that there was for France" communicated itself to her, and 
she felt it in every chord of her sensitive nature. The great 
angel concluded abruptly: 

"Daughter of God, it is thou who must go to the help of the 
King of France, and it is thou who wilt give him back his 
kingdom." 

But at this Jeanne sprang to her feet, astounded. 

"I, Messire? I?" 

"Even thou, Jeanne. It is thou who must fare forth into 
France to do this. Hast thou not heard that France ruined 
by a woman shall by a virgin be restored? Thou art the 
Maid." 

[88] 



JEANNE RECEIVES A GIFT 

But terrified and weeping the girl fell prostrate before him. 
"Not I, Messire. Oh, not I. It cannot be." 
"Thou art the Maid," was all he said. 
With this Jeanne found herself alone. 



[89] 




CHAPTER IX 

The Charge is Accepted 

'1, too, could be content to dwell m peace, 
Resting my head upon the lap of love, 
But that my country calls." 

Southey. "Joan of Arc," Booh I. 



•rp 



HOU art the Maid." 

Over and over the young girl repeated the words 
in a maze of incredulity and wonder. That she, 
Jeanne D'Arc, should be chosen for such a divine commission 
was unbelievable. She was poor, without learning, a peasant 
girl who had no powerful friends to take her to the Court, 
and ignorant of all that pertained to war. Her judgment and 
common sense told her that such a thing could not be. True, 
the ancient prophecy of Merlin, the Magician, said that a 
maiden from the Bois Chesnu in the March of Lorraine should 
save France. True also was the fact that from her infancy 
she had played in that ancient wood; could even then behold its 
great extent from her father's door. Yet, despite these actuali- 
ties, it could not be that she was the delegated Maid. 

[90] 



THE CHARGE IS ACCEPTED 

So, while the archangel came again and again urging the 
high mission with insistency the girl protested shrinkingly. 
Time after time he said: 

"Daughter of God, thou shalt lead the Dauphin to Reims, 
that he may there receive worthily his anointing." 

Again and again Jeanne replied with tears : 

"I am but a poor girl, Messire. I am too young to leave 
my father and my mother. I can not ride a horse, or couch a 
lance. How then could I lead men-at-arms?" 

"Thou shalt be instructed in all that thou hast to do," she 
was told. 

As time passed, unconsciously Jeanne became filled with 
two great principles which grew with her growth until they 
were interwoven with every fibre of her being: the love of God, 
and the desire to do some great thing for the benefit of her 
country. Her heart ached with the longing. So it came 
about that the burden of France lay heavy upon her. She 
could think of nothing but its distress. She became distrait 
and troubled. 

Gradually, as the Voices of her Heavenly visitants grew 
stronger and more ardent, the soul of the maiden became holier 
and more heroic. She was led to see how the miraculous sug- 
gestion was feasible; how everything pointed to just such a 
deliverance for France. Her country needed her. From un- 
der the heel of the invader where it lay bruised and bleeding it 
was calling for redemption. And never since the morning 
stars sang together has there been sweeter song than the call 
of country. Ever since the Paladins of Charlemagne, as the 
Chanson de Roland tells, wept in a foreign land at the thought 

[91] 



JOAN OF ARC 

of "sweet France," Frenchmen had loved their native land 
and hated the foreigner. What wonder then, that when the 
divine call came, it was heard and heeded? 

She still resisted, but her protests were those of one who 
is weighing and considering how the task may be accomplished. 
Months passed. There came a day in May, 1428, when 
Jeanne's indecision ended. She was sixteen now, shapely and 
graceful, and of extraordinary beauty. 

It was a Saturday, the Holy Virgin's day, and the girl set 
forth on her weekly pilgrimage to the chapel of Bermont, where 
there was a statue of the Virgin Mother with her divine child in 
her arms. Jeanne passed through Greux, then climbed the 
hill at the foot of which the village nestled. The path was over- 
grown with grass, vines, and fruit-trees, through which she 
could glimpse the green valley and the blue hills on the east. 
Deeply embedded in the forest the chapel stood on the brow 
of the hill, and she found herself the only votary. She was 
glad of this, for to-day Jeanne wished to be alone. Prostrat- 
ing herself before the statue, she continued long in prayer ; then, 
comforted and strengthened, she went out of the chapel, and 
stood on the wooded plateau. To all appearance she was gaz- 
ing thoughtfully off into the valley; in reality she waited with 
eager expectancy the coming of her celestial visitants. 

Very much like a saint herself Jeanne looked as she stood 
there with uplifted look. There was in her face a sweetness 
and serenity and purity that reflected her spiritual nature. 
Her manner was at once winning, inspiriting and inspired. 
She did not have long to wait for the appearance of Saint 
Michael. Long communing with her Saints had robbed her 

[92] 



THE CHARGE IS ACCEPTED 

of all fear in their presence, so now when the archangel stood 
before her Jeanne knelt, and reverently kissed the ground 
upon which he stood. 

"Daughter of God," he said, "thou must fare forth into 
France. Thou must go. Thou must." 

For a moment Jeanne could utter no reply. She knew that 
the command must be obeyed. She had sought the retire- 
ment of the forest that she might inform her saints that she 
accepted the charge, and she most often met them in the silence 
and quiet of the fields, the forest, or garden. She had sought 
them to tell them of her decision, but at the thought of leaving 
her father, her mother, her friends, and the valley she loved 
so well, her courage faltered. Faintly she made her last pro- 
test: 

"I am so young," she said. "So young to leave my father 
and my mother. I can sew ; can use with skill either the needle 
or the distaff, but I can not lead men-at-arms. Yet if it be 
so commanded, if God wills it, then I — " Her voice broke, and 
she bent her head low in submission before him. 

At her words the wonderful light burst into marvellous bril- 
liancy. It drenched the kneeling maiden in its dazzling radi- 
ance, pervading her being with a soft, warm glow. The faith 
that power would be given her to accomplish what was required 
of her was born at this instant; thereafter it never left her. 
"When the archangel spoke, he addressed her as a sister : 

"Rise, daughter of God," he said. "This now is what you 
must do: Go at once to Messire Robert de Baudricourt, cap- 
tain of Vaucouleurs, and he will take you to the King. Saint 
Margaret and Saint Catherine will come to aid you." 

[93] 



JOAN OF ARC 

And Jeanne D'Arc arose, no longer the timid, shrinking 
peasant girl, but Jeanne, Maid of France, consecrated heart 
and soul to her country. The time had come when she must 
go forth to fulfill her incredible destiny. 

Henceforth she knew what great deeds she was to bring 
to pass. She knew that God had chosen her that through 
Him she might win back France from the enemy, and set the 
crown on the head of the Dauphin. 

It was late when at length she left the precincts of the 
chapel, and passed down the hill path, and on to the fields 
of Domremy. Pierre was at work in one of the upland mead- 
ows, and as he wielded the hoe he sang: 

"Dread are the omens and fierce the storm, 
O'er France the signs and wonders swarm ; 
From noonday on to the vesper hour, 
Night and darkness alone have power ; 
Nor sun nor moon one ray doth shed, 
Who sees it ranks him among the dead. 

Behold our bravest lie dead on the fields ; 
Well may we weep for France the fair, 
Of her noble barons despoiled and bare." 

It was the Song of Roland. The song that no French 
heart can hear unmoved. Jeanne thrilled as she heard it. Did 
Pierre too feel for their suffering country? Swiftly she went 
to him, and, throwing her arm across his shoulder, sang with 

him: 

"Yet strike with your burnished brands — accursed 
Who sells not his life right dearly first ; 
In life or death be your thought the same, 
That gentle France be not brought to shame." 
[94] 



THE CHARGE IS ACCEPTED 

Pierre turned toward her with a smile. 

"How you sang that, Jeanne. Just as though you would like 
to go out and fight for France yourself." 

"I would," she replied quickly. "Wouldn't you, Pierrelot ?" 

Something in her tone made the boy look at her keenly. 

"How your eyes shine," he said. "And somehow you seem 
different. What is it, Jeanne? The song?" 

"Partly," she told him. 

"Well, it does make a fellow's heart leap." The youth spoke 
thoughtfully. "It always makes me feel like dropping every- 
thing to go out to fight the English and Burgundians." 

"We will go together, Pierrelot," spoke his sister softly. 

"We—" 

"What's that about going to fighting?" demanded their 
father, who had drawn near without being perceived. "Let 
me hear no more of that. Pierre, that field must be finished by 
sundown. Jeanne, your mother has need of you in the house. 
There is no time for dawdling, or singing. Go to her." 

"Yes, father." Dutifully the maiden went at once to the 
cottage, while Pierre resumed his hoeing. 

The conversation passed from the lad's mind, but it was 
otherwise with Jacques D'Arc. He had heard his daughter's 
words, "We will go together, Pierrelot," and they troubled 

him. 

The following morning he appeared at the breakfast table 
scowling and taciturn, making but small pretence at eating. 
Presently he pushed back from the table. His wife glanced 
at him with solicitude. 

"What ails you, Jacques?" she queried. "Naught have you 

[95] 



JOAN OF ARC 

eaten, which is not wise. You should not begin the day's 
work upon an empty stomach." 

"Shall I get you some fresh water, father?" asked Jeanne. 

Jacques turned upon her quickly, and with such frowning 
brow that, involuntarily, she shrank from him. 

"Hark you," he said. "I dreamed of you last night." 

"Of me, father?" she faltered. 

"Yes. I dreamed that I saw you riding in the midst of 
men-at-arms." 

At this both Jean and Pierre laughed. 

"Just think of Jeanne being with soldiers," exclaimed Jean. 
"Why, she would run at sight of a Godon." 

But there was no answering smile on the face of their father. 
According to his belief there was but one interpretation to be 
put upon such a dream. Many women rode with men-at- 
arms, but they were not good women. So now, bringing his 
fist down upon the table with a resounding thwack, he roared : 

"Rather than have such a thing happen, I would have you 
boys drown her in the river. And if you would not do it, I 
would do it myself." 

Jeanne turned pale. Instantly it was borne in upon her 
that her father must not know of her mission. She knew that 
if now she were to tell of the wonderful task that had been as- 
signed to her she would not be believed, but that he would 
think ill of her. 

At this juncture her mother spoke, chidingly: 

"How you talk, Jacques. What a pother to make over a 
dream. Come now! eat your breakfast, and think no more 
of it." 

[96] 



THE CHARGE IS ACCEPTED 

But Jacques only reiterated his words fiercely: 
"I would drown her rather than have a daughter of mine 
among soldiers." 

Jeanne glanced at her brothers, but their countenances were 
grave enough now, for they comprehended their father's mean- 
ing. A sudden sense of aloofness, of being no longer part and 
parcel of her family, smote her. The tears came and over- 
flowed her cheeks, for she was but a girl after all. To hide her 
grief she rose hastily, and ran to her own little room. 



[97] 




CHAPTER X 

The First Step 

"On the subject of Jeanne's sincerity I have raised 
no doubts. It is impossible to suspect her of lying; she 
firmly believed that she received her mission from her 
Voices." 

Anatoue France. "Joan of Arc." 

FROM this time forth Jeanne's family could not fail to 
notice the change that marked her bearing and appear- 
ance. Her eyes glowed with the light of a steadfast 
purpose, and the serene thoughtfulness of her countenance was 
illumined by a brightness that was like the rosy flush of dawn 
stealing upon the pale coldness of the morning. She was still 
simple in manner, but her shrinking timidity had vanished, and 
in its stead had come decision and an air of authority. She 
bore herself nobly, as became one who had been vested with 
the leadership of a divine mission. Yet of this outward ex- 
pression of authority she was unconscious. The thought that 
filled her to the exclusion of all else was how she was to pro- 
ceed to accomplish her task. For there were three things that 
she had to do for the saving of her country: 

[98] 



THE FIRST STEP 

First: She must go to Robert de Baudricourt at Vaucou- 
leurs. 

Second : She must win back France from her enemies. 

Third: She must lead the Dauphin to his anointing at 
Reims. How these things were to be brought to pass she did 
not know. 

The walled town of Vaucouleurs lay some twelve miles to 
the northward of Domremy, and was the chief place of the 
district. Its captain, Robert de Baudricourt, was well known 
throughout the Valley of Colors. He was a blunt, practical 
man of the sword, who had married two rich widows in succes- 
sion, and who had been righting since he could bear arms, in 
the reckless wars of the Lorraine Marches. He was brave 
as a lion, coarse, rough, domineering, an ideal soldier of his time 
and country. Jacques D'Arc had had personal dealings with 
him in the Spring of the previous year when he had appeared 
before him to plead the cause of Domremy against one Guiot 
Poignant, and he had many tales to tell of the rough Governor. 
How could she approach such a man? 

There was no hope of help at home. That she foresaw 
clearly as she recalled her father's words concerning his dream. 
She knew that he would oppose her bitterly. Nor would her 
mother aid her, deeply as she loved her, to go contrary to her 
'father's will. Neither would they allow her to journey to 
Vaucouleurs unattended. The maiden made a mental review 
of the villagers in search of one to whom she might appeal for 
assistance, but rejected them sadly as their images passed be- 
fore her. Clearly she must bide her time. 

"But I must go soon," she mused. "It is the will of God." 

[99] 



JOAN OF ARC 

Just at this juncture, when she knew not to whom to go, 
Durand Lassois, a cousin by marriage whom she called uncle 
because he was so much older than she, came to Domremy on 
a visit. Jeanne hailed his advent with eagerness. He lived 
with his young wife, who was Isabeau's niece, in Bury le Petit, 
a hamlet lying on the left bank of the Meuse in the green 
valley, nine miles from Domremy, but only three from Vaucou- 
leurs. Here was the help that she needed, for Durand was 
fond of Jeanne, and would do her bidding as unquestioningly as 
a mastiff obeys the child whom he adores. 

So when Jeanne, taking him aside, asked him to take her 
home with him for a visit to her cousin, his wife, he assented 
readily. 

"Aveline will be glad for you to come, Jeanne," he said. 
"She is not well, and a visit from you will cheer her up." 

Jacques D'Arc made some objections when the subject was 
broached, but Isabeau was pleased and over-ruled them. 

"It is the very thing," she exclaimed. "The child has been 
in need of a change this long while. Nay, now, Jacques, say 
naught against it. She shall go. I wonder that we did not 
think of sending her there ourselves." 

"It must be for only a week, then," said Jacques. 
"A week is better than nothing," spoke Durand Lassois. 
"Have no fear for her, Jacques. She shall be well looked 
after." 

So a few days later the uncle and niece started for Bury 
le Petit by way of the hill path beyond Greux. As they walked 
through the forest, fragrant with the breath of spring, Jeanne 
said abruptly: 

[100] 



THE FIRST STEP 

"Uncle Durand, while I am at your house I wish you to 
take me to Vaucouleurs to see Sire Robert de Baudricourt." 

"You wish me to do what, child?" he asked in open-mouthed 
amazement. 

"To take me to Vaucouleurs to see Sire Robert de Baudri- 
court." 

"What for?" demanded Lassois, staring at her. 

"So that he may send me to the place where the Dauphin is, 
uncle. I must go into France to lead the Dauphin to Reims, 
that he may be crowned King there." 

Into the peasant's honest face there came a troubled expres- 
sion. Slowly he passed his hand across his brow, then stopped 
in the path and looked at her. 

"It may be that we are walking too fast, little one," he said 
gently. "Your mother said that you had not been well, and 
'tis known that the sun sometimes plays strange tricks with 
the wits." 

"I am not daft, uncle, nor hath the sun unsettled my wits." 
Jeanne showed neither surprise nor vexation at his words. 
"Have you not heard that a woman should lose France, and 
that a Maid should save France?" 

"I have heard it," admitted Durand slowly. "What then, 
Jeanne?" 

"I am that Maid, Uncle Durand. I shall save France." 
She spoke in a tone of quiet conviction. 

The man drew a long breath and stared at her. He had 
known the maid all her short life. Knew of her good deeds, 
her purity and truthfulness ; knew that all that could be urged 
against her was the fault of going to church too frequently. So 

[101] 



JOAN OF ARC 

now, as he noted the clearness of her eyes and the calmness of 
her manner, he told himself that she believed what she said, 
and that whatever might be the nature of her affliction it was not 
madness. 

''You must believe me, uncle," spoke the girl pleadingly. 
"Have I not always been truthful?" 

He nodded. 

"I am so now. I am called of God to win back France from 
her enemies, and to lead the Dauphin to be crowned King at 
Reims. I go to the Captain of Vaucouleurs that he may grant 
men to me to take me to the gentle Dauphin. Will you take 
me to Sire Robert?" 

Lassois did not reply. He could not. He stood for a long 
moment utterly incapable of speech. Jeanne went on in her 
soft, clear accents to tell him of her mission and of its divine 
origin. She was so earnest, she spoke with such assurance of 
the charge that had been laid upon her that in spite of himself 
Durand believed her. To the natural mind the wonder is not 
that angelic visitors come to the pure and good, but that they 
come so seldom. He leaned forward suddenly, and said: 

"I'll take you to Vaucouleurs, ma mie, if you wish to go. 
Jacques won't like it, though. Have you thought of that?" 

"I know, uncle, but it is the will of God. I must go," she 
told him. 

Involuntarily Lassois crossed himself. There was such a 
look of exaltation about the maiden that he felt as though he 
were in church. 

"I'll take you, Jeanne," he said again. "But hark ye, child! 

[102] 



THE FIRST STEP 

there must be no word of your Voices at the house. Neither 
Aveline nor her parents would believe you." 

"There will be many who will not believe me, uncle," sighed 
she. She thought of the dear ones at Domremy who would 
not, and sighed again. "Even Sire Robert will not." 

"Then why go to him?" he demanded bluntly. 

"It is commanded," she answered. "Later he will believe." 

So the compact was made, and Jeanne had found the way 
to make the first step toward the fulfilling of her mission, and 
the journey was finished without further incident. However, 
it proved not so easy to leave for Vaucouleurs as she supposed 
it would be. Lassois and his young wife lived with her parents, 
the wife's mother being Isabeau's sister was therefore Jeanne's 
aunt. Both mother and daughter welcomed their young kins- 
woman with delight, and took such pleasure in her society that 
they were unwilling that she should leave them even for a 
day. Thus four days went by before Durand was able to fulfill 
his promise. It was managed at last, however, and the maid- 
en's heart beat high as they left Bury le Petit behind them, and 
set their faces toward Vaucouleurs. Being but a three mile 
journey it was quickly made. Though born and bred in the 
valley it was the first time that she had ever seen the grim little 
fighting town where Robert de Baudricourt upheld the Stand- 
ard of the Lilies against that of the Leopard. Therefore she 
looked about her with natural curiosity. 

The width of the valley lessened here. The hills pressed so 
closely upon the river that the meadows lay at the very feet of 
the town. Within the walls the buildings clustered round the 

[ 103] 



JOAN OF ARC 

base of a hill upon which stood the castle of the Governor and 
the church, overlooking the vast extent of hills and dominating 
the valley. 

Without difficulty they entered the town, and climbed one 
of the narrow streets leading to the castle. The gates were 
open, for the bluff Captain was easy of access to his followers 
and townsmen. A number of soldiers were scattered about 
the courtyard burnishing armour, sharpening swords, and all 
as busy and merry as valiant men-at-arms should be. They 
cast curious glances at the pair, the rustic countryman and his 
fair companion, but on the whole were civil enough, permitting 
them to pass without hindrance into an ante-chamber of the 
castle. 

"Shall I not speak to Sire Robert first, Jeanne?" questioned 
iLassois, who became all at once awkward and diffident. 
Secretly he hoped that the Governor would refuse to see his 
young kinswoman. He feared his ridicule. Jeanne shook her 
head. 

"Let us go together, Uncle Durand. Go thou to thy mas- 
ter, the Sire Robert," she added, turning to the page who now 
approached to learn what they wanted, "and tell him that 
Jeanne, the Maid, who comes with her uncle, would speak with 
him." 

"Ye must wait," spoke the page pertly. "My master sits at 
meat." 

"Nathless thou wilt take the message," spoke the girl so 
firmly and with so much of command that the youth's insolent 
air became at once respectful. "My lord's business is of im- 
portance. It must be attended to." 

[ 104] 



THE FIRST STEP. 

The lad bowed, and left them. Soon he returned, saying: 

"The Sire Captain says that you are to come to him. This 
way." With this he conducted them through many a windy 
passage to the banqueting chamber. 

A long table extended its length down the centre of the 
room, and around it were gathered the officers of the garrison. 
At the far end of this table stood a smaller one elevated above 
the other by a dais. At this table with three companions sat a 
brawny, gray-haired man whom Jeanne knew at once was 
the Governor. 

Lassois, shy and ill at ease among so many gentles, stopped 
short just inside the door, and stood awkwardly twirling his 
cap in his hand. But Jeanne, who had been wont to tremble 
and blush before strangers, was in no wise abashed, but with 
noble and courteous bearing proceeded directly to the small 
table. 

An involuntary exclamation of admiration escaped the rough 
soldier's lips. The girl was clad in the ordinary red homespun 
frock of the peasant, and her abundant hair was entirely hid- 
den under the coif worn by all women, but neither the poor 
dress nor the coif could conceal her beauty. So Robert de 
Baudricourt's tones were as soft as his harsh voice would per- 
mit as he said: 

"Thou art welcome, child. What wouldst thou have with 
me?" 

"I am come to you, Sire Robert, sent by Messire," she an- 
swered fearlessly, "that you may send word to the Dauphin and 
tell him to hold himself in readiness, but not to give battle to 
his enemies." 

[105] 



JOAN OF ARC 

A gasp of amazement came from Sire Robert. He did 
not speak, but, leaning forward, he regarded the maiden keenly. 
With perfect calm and self-possession she continued: 

"Before mid Lent my Lord will grant him aid. But in 
very deed the realm belongs not to the Dauphin. Nathless 
it is Messire's will that the Dauphin should be King, and 
receive the kingdom in trust. Notwithstanding his enemies 
the Dauphin shall be King; and it is I who shall lead him to 
his anointing." 

A moment of silence followed this startling announcement. 
Across the faces of the men-at-arms stole expressions of pity, 
then a murmur of compassion ran through the room as Sire 
Robert asked: 

"Who is Messire?" 

And Jeanne answered, "He is the King of Heaven." 

Now it happened that just before Lassois and Jeanne en- 
tered the hall the Governor and his men had been discussing the 
state of affairs in the country. It was noised about that the 
English were preparing for a new attack in force on the 
Dauphin's territories south of the Loire. It was rumored also 
that the little wedge of loyal territory in which Vaucouleurs 
lay was to be the object of special attack by the Burgundians. 
That a young peasant girl, accompanied by a rustic, should 
calmly inform him that she should straighten out the difficul- 
ties of distressed France appealed to Robert as a huge joke. 
So, at her answer, he gave way to a great shout of laughter in 
which his men, as in duty bound, joined. Sire Robert had 
no sentiment, but was possessed of a coarse humour. Again 
and again the rafters rang with his merriment. When the 

[106] 



THE FIRST STEP 

hilarity had somewhat subsided he beckoned Lassois to draw 
near. 

"Come hither, rustic," he said. "Is this thy daughter?" 

"No," replied Durand tremblingly. "She is the daughter 
of Jacques D'Arc." 

"So?" Sire Robert scanned the maid with new interest. 
"See you, my man," he said. "The girl is daft; clean daft. 
As witless an innocent as ever it has been my lot to behold. 
Whip her well, and send her home to her father." 

Whip her? Lassois turned a startled glance upon the Gov- 
ernor as though he had not heard aright. Whip Jeanne, who 
was so good and sweet? The very idea was profanation. 
Cowed and frightened he grasped the maiden's arm. 

"Come," he whispered. "Let's be going." 

But calmly, courageously Jeanne faced the Governor. 

"I go, Sire Robert, but I shall come again. For it is you 
who are appointed by the will of Messire to send me with an 
escort of men-at-arms to the aid of the Dauphin. My Voices 
have said so." 

Mad though they deemed the maiden, the men-at-arms and 
their Captain were impressed by the girl's gravity and noble 
bearing as she spoke. In silence, therefore, they permitted the 
pair to pass from the room. 



[107] 




CHAPTER XI 

A Trying Time 

"A Prophet is not without honour, save m his own 
country, and in his own house" 

St. Matthew 13 : 57. 



AT the end of the week Lassois took Jeanne home. It 
was a return fraught with unpleasantness. 
The girl's visit to Sire Robert and her claim that 
she would lead the Dauphin to his anointing had been dis- 
cussed and made a matter of sport by the soldiers of the gar- 
rison. From them it passed to the townspeople; from the 
townspeople to the country, and thence to Domremy. The 
whole valley buzzed with talk of it. Jacques heard the gossip 
in a passion of shame and anger. Therefore, when Lassois 
and his daughter entered the cottage he met them with scowling 
brow. 

"What is this that I hear about your visiting Sire Robert 
de Baudricourt?" he demanded of Jeanne wrathfully. "Why 
did you go there? What business had you with him?" 

Jeanne faced him bravely. 

[108] 



A TRYING TIME 

"I had to go," she told him calmly. "It was commanded. 
Sire Robert has been appointed to give me men-at-arms to 
take me to the Dauphin that I may lead him to his anointing. 
I am to save France, father. It is so commanded by Messire, 
the King of Heaven." 

Her father's jaw dropped. He stood staring at her for 
a long moment, then turned to his wife with a groan. 

"She is out of her senses, Isabeau," he cried. "Our daugh- 
ter's wits are wandering. This comes of so much church go- 
ing and prayer. I will have no more of it." 

"Shame upon you, Jacques, for speaking against the church," 
exclaimed Isabeau. "Say rather it hath come from the tales 
of bloodshed she hath heard. Too many have been told about 
the fireside. 'Tis talk, talk of the war all the time. I warned 
you of it." 

"Whatever be the cause I will have no more of it," reiterated 
Jacques with vehemence. "Nay; nor will I have any more 
going to Vaucouleurs, nor talk of seeking the Dauphin. Do 
you hear, Jeanne?" 

"Yes, father," she answered quietly. "I grieve to go against 
your will, but I must do the work the Lord has appointed. 
Let me tell you — " 

"Naught! You shall tell me naught," cried Jacques almost 
beside himself with rage. "Go to your room, and stay there for 
the rest of the day. And hark ye all!" including his wife and 
sons in a wide sweeping gesture, "wherever Jeanne goes one of 
you must be with her. See to it. At any time she may go 
off with some roaming band of Free Lances. Rather than have 
that happen I would rather she were dead." He turned upon 

[109] 



JOAN OF ARC 

Lassois fiercely as Jeanne, weeping bitterly at his harsh words, 
obediently withdrew into her own little room. 

'And you, Lassois! why did you not keep her from going 
to Vaucouleurs? You knew that I would not like it. You 
knew also that it would cause talk. Why, why did you per- 
mit it?" 

"Aye, I knew all that, Jacques," responded Lassois, shifting 
uneasily from one foot to the other. "But Jeanne really be- 
lieved that she had received a divine command to go to Sire 
Robert. So believing, she would have gone to him in spite of 
all that I could have done. Therefore, was it not better that I 
should take her?" 

"Durand speaks truly, Jacques," spoke Isabeau. "The 
child is clearly daft. I have heard that such are always set in 
their fancies. What is past, is past. She has been to Vaucou- 
leurs; therefore, it can not be undone. What remains to be 
done is to guard against any future wanderings." The mother 
was as greatly distressed as the father, but out of sympathy 
for his woe she forced herself to speak of the occurrence with 
calmness. 

"True," muttered Jacques. "True. No doubt you could 
not do other than you did, Durand; but I wonder that you did 
it." 

"Jeanne does not seem out of her senses to me," observed 
Lassois. "There is a saying, as you well know, that a maid 
from the Bois Chesnu shall redeem France. It might be she 
as well as another. She is holy enough." 

"Pouf!" Jacques snapped his fingers derisively. "It is 
as Isabeau says: she has heard too much of the state of the 

[110] 



A TRYING TIME 

realm, and of the wonderful Maid who is to restore it. The 
country is full of the talk. It could not mean her. She is but 
a peasant girl, and when hath a villein's daughter ever ridden a 
horse, or couched a lance? Let her keep to her station. Don't 
let such wild talk addle your wits, too, Durand. Now tell me 
everything that occurred at Vaucouleurs. The village rings 
with the affair. I want the whole truth." 

Lassois did as requested, and told all of the happening. 
Finding the girl's parents so incredulous concerning her mis- 
sion had somewhat shaken his belief in his niece, but the germ 
that remained caused him to softefn. the narrative a little. 
Jacques heard him through in silence. When Durand had fin- 
ished the telling he bowed his head upon his arms as though 
the recital were beyond his strength to bear. 

He was an upright man, just and honorable in his dealings 
with others. He stood well in the village, being esteemed 
next to the mayor himself. He was fond of his children, and 
had looked after their upbringing strictly. He wanted noth- 
ing out of the ordinary, nothing unusual, nothing but what 
was conventional and right to occur among them. He did not 
believe that his daughter had received a divine command. He 
did not know of her Heavenly visitants, nor would he have 
believed in them had he known. He thought that someway, 
somehow, she had become imbued with a wild fancy to be among 
men-at-arms ; that, in consequence, she might become a worth- 
less creature. The mere idea was agony. After a time he 
raised his head to ask brokenly, 

"She told the Sire Captain that she would come again, Dur- 
and?" 

[in] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Yes, Jacques. She believes that she has been commanded 
so to do. She told you that; and whatever Jeanne thinks is 
the will of God that she will do." 

"She deludes herself," spoke the father shortly, detecting the 
hint of faith underlying Lassois' tone. "Think you that the 
Governor would listen to her if she were to go to him again?" 

Lassois reflected. 

"3Jo," he said presently. "I think he will not pay any atten- 
tion to her." 

Jacques brightened. "That is well," he nodded. "She 
shall not go if I can prevent it. She shall be guarded well. I 
shall see to it." 

Thereafter a strict watch was kept upon Jeanne's every 
movement. One of her brothers, or Jacques D'Arc himself, 
was always with her. Instead of the tenderness that her father 
had always shown toward her there was now harshness and 
severity. Her mother too, though far from being cruel, was 
querulous and often spoke sharply to her. Isabeau knew her 
child's pure heart too well to believe that the girl was actuated 
by any but the highest motives. She did think, however, that 
the child's wits wandered, though the maiden performed her 
customary duties with care and exactness, and was worried and 
distressed in consequence. 

In the village Jeanne found herself avoided. With the ex- 
ception of Mengette and Hauviette her friends shunned her. 
The little hamlet was in a ferment of tattle. Whenever she 
appeared in any of the narrow streets heads were bent together 
and fingers pointed mockingly. Often the whispers reached 
her. 

[112] 



A TRYING TIME 

"There goes she who is to save France." 

"Jeanne D'Arc says she is to lead the Dauphin to his anoint- 
ing." 

It was a trying time. Jeanne often shed tears over the jeers 
and taunts, but she wept in secret. Outwardly serene she sub- 
mitted meekly to the espionage of her own people, and to the 
gibes of her neighbors. Had it not been for the consolation 
received from "Her Voices," life would have been unendurable. 

"Be patient, Daughter of God," they said. "It will not be 
long. All will be well. Thy time will come soon." 

"Your father grieves over you, Jeanne," spoke Isabeau one 
day after Jacques, stung beyond endurance by some remark he 
had heard against his daughter, was taking her severely to 
task. "He is cut to the heart that you should have gone to 
Vaucouleurs, and by your talk of the Dauphin. You must not 
be angry with him." 

"I am not, mother," said the maiden sadly. "I know that he 
does not understand. Nor do you; but you will — in time." 
She loved her parents dearly, and excused their rigorousness 
because she knew that they did not believe in her inspiration. 
Often had she tried to explain matters, but they would not 
listen. 

"We understand only too well, little one," responded Isa- 
beau. "Jacques fears that you are bent upon seeking Sire 
Robert again. I have told him that you will not." She gave 
Jeanne a questioning glance as she finished speaking. 

"I must, mother. It is commanded." 

"Jeanne, give o'er such talk," exclaimed her mother sharply. 
"Where did you get such notions? The neighbors say that you 

[118] 



JOAN OF ARC 

got your affliction at l'Arbre-des-Fees. That you have been 
seen there alone, bewreathing the tree with garlands, and that 
while so doing you met a wicked fairy who was your fate. Is 
it true?" 

"If there be fairies, mother, I have never seen them, and 
not in years have I carried wreaths to l'Arbre-des-Fees. I 
used to go there on Laetare Sunday with the boys and girls, 
but I go no longer. As to flowers, mother ; I carry them only 
to the altar of Our Lady of Belmont, or offer them here to the 
Saints." 

"There is naught but good in that, so what makes the peo- 
ple talk so?" ejaculated the mother fretfully. "If you would 
but give up your talk of helping the Dauphin this tittle-tattle 
might be stopped. As it is, Jacques is distressed that you are 
so obdurate. He spoke to the Cure about exorcising you for 
the evil spirit." 

"Mother, did my father do that?" exclaimed the girl, the 
tears springing to her eyes. 

"Oh, it is not to be." The good dame herself had not ap- 
proved this measure. She was in truth almost as much exer- 
cised over her husband as she was over her daughter. "Messire 
Guillaume Frontey would not hear of it, saying, that whatever 
might be the state of your wits your soul was as pure as a lily, 
because he confessed you almost daily. I advised Jacques — " 
Isabeau paused and subjected her daughter to a keen scrutiny, 
scarcely knowing how to proceed. She was in truth puzzled 
and a little awed by Jeanne's new attitude and demeanor. 
Presently she continued abruptly : 

"I was married when I was your age, Jeanne." 

[114] 



A TRYING TIME 

"Were you, mother?" A slight smile stirred the corners 
of the girl's mouth. She saw what was coming. 

"Yes; and Mengette hath been betrothed since Eastertide. 
She is to be married after the harvest." 

"She told me, mother." 

"And of all of the girls of your age you and Hauviette alone 
remain unplighted. Hauviette hath the excuse of being a 
little young, but you — you are sixteen, and quite old enough 
for a home and a husband, Jeanne." 

"Mother!" There was such appeal in the maiden's voice 
that Isabeau, deeming it caused by the suddenness of the 
announcement, turned quickly with outstretched hands. 
"Y|ou must not talk of marriage to me. I shall remain 
unwed until my task is finished. I have vowed it to 'My 
Voices.' " 

"Pouf , child ! A home of your own, and a husband to look 
after will soon make you forget such notions, and so I told 
Jacques. Come now, be reasonable! I know some one who 
would gladly provide such a home. Let — " 

"While France writhes in agony under the heel of the in- 
vader there shall be no marriage for me," spoke Jeanne firmly, 
turning to leave the room. 

"Nathless, whether you like it or not, you shall be married," 
cried Isabeau, nettled by the girl's words. "Your father has 
determined on it. Your plighted husband comes this evening 
to see you." 

Jeanne stood aghast. She had not dreamed that her parents 
would go so far. She stood for a moment without speaking, 
then she said quietly: 

[115] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"My faith is plighted to none but my Lord. No man has it, 
nor shall have it until Messire's mission is completed. 'Tis 
useless to speak of it." Again she started to leave the room. 

"Nathless, Colin de Greux will be here this evening," ex- 
claimed Isabeau thoroughly out of patience. 

Colin? The merry nature that lay under Jeanne's gravity 
surged upward, and a twinkle came into her eyes. All at once 
she laughed outright. Her mother glanced at her quickly, 
surprised and relieved. 

"There! That's better," she said. "He will be here after 
supper, Jeanne." 

"It matters not, mother." 

Isabeau's relief changed to perplexity at the words. There 
was something in the tone that did not satisfy her, but as it was 
nearer to an affirmative than she had hoped for she was fain 
to make the best of the matter; so made no further remark. 

Colin de Greux came with the evening. He had grown tall 
with the years, and was not ill looking. He was still the same 
easy-going, lumbering, dull sort of fellow whose good opinion 
of himself rendered him impervious to rebuffs or coldness. He 
was not the youth that ordinarily Isabeau would have chosen 
for her child, but Jeanne had never encouraged attentions from 
the village lads, who now fought shy of her because of her 
extreme piety. Desperate diseases require desperate remedies. 
Jacques and Isabeau judged that marriage even with Colin 
was better than the fancies that filled their daughter's mind. 
Beside, where another might be easily repulsed Colin could 
be induced to continue his wooing. Jeanne saw through this 
reasoning. She determined to make short shrift of Colin. 

[116] 



A TRYING TIME 

When the evening came, therefore, she took a hoe and went 
into the garden. Colin found her there industriously at work 
among the artichokes. 

"How do you do, Jeanne?" he said sheepishly. 

"Very well indeed, Colin." Jeanne wielded the hoe vigor- 
ously, and gave no indication of quitting her seemingly ab- 
sorbing task. 

There came a silence. Had they been with the sheep on 
the uplands Colin would have been thoroughly at ease. As 
it was there was something about the maiden's manner that 
disturbed his assurance. He had not been wont to feel so in 
her presence. 

"It's warm out here," he ventured presently. 

"Perchance you will find it cooler in the house," intimated 
the girl sweetly. 

"The family will be there," he objected, looking suggestively 
at a bench under an apple tree. The youths and the maidens 
of Domremy always sat together when the suitor was approved 
by the parents. Jeanne's cool, steadfast gaze disconcerted him. 

"Why, yes, Colin, they will be there. You will find them all, 
I think. Jean and Pierre are with mother. Did you wish to 
see them?" 

This roused Colin. 

"No; I don't wish to see them," he said angrily. "I wish 
to talk to you, Jeanne D'Arc." 

"I am listening, Colin." Jeanne quietly finished the hill 
which she was hoeing, then began on the next row, which was 
further removed from the youth, the tall heads of the artichokes 
nodding stiffly between them. 

[117] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"But I can't talk while you are hoeing," he exclaimed. 
"And your father told me that I might talk to you." 

Jeanne laid down the hoe, and confronted him. 

"Colin," she said gravely, "mother told me that you would 
come, and why; but it is of no use. There are other girls in the 
village who would gladly marry you. I am resolved not to 
wed." 

"I don't want any other girl for a wife but you, Jeanne. I 
have always liked you, and you know it. Besides, your 
father—" 

"You cannot wed a girl against her will, Colin, and I shall 
not marry you. I am talking plainly so that you will under- 
stand, and not waste your time." 

"But you shall," muttered the boy wrathfully. "Your father 
tells me that you shall." 

Without a word Jeanne turned from him, and flitted swiftly 
into the church. It was her sanctuary, for Isabeau would not 
allow her devotions to be interrupted. Sulkily Colin re-entered 
the cottage. 

Urged on by the girl's parents, he was thereafter a frequent 
visitor, but his wooing did not speed. Somehow all his pretty 
speeches, all his self-assurance shriveled into nothingness when 
he was face to face with Jeanne. And serenely the maiden 
went her way, ignoring alike her father's mandates, and her 
mother's entreaties to marry the lad. 

So sped the days. 



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CHAPTER XII 

A Worsted Suitor 

"Whatsoever thing confronted her, whatsoever prob- 
lem encountered her, whatsoever manners became her in 
novel situations, she understood in a moment. She solved 
the problem, she assumed the manners, she spoke and 
Gated a-s the need of the moment required." 

Andrew Lang, "The Maid of France." 

SO the days sped. Presently rumours of another and 
more startling nature ran through the valley. Inter- 
est in Jeanne D'Arc, her mission, and Colin's wooing 
paled before the news. It was noised that Antoine de Vergy, 
Governor of Champagne, had received a commission from the 
Duke of Bedford, Regent of France for Henry VI, to furnish 
forth men-at-arms for the purpose of bringing the castellany of 
Vaucouleurs into subjection to the English. The greatest 
alarm prevailed when the report was confirmed, that the Gov- 
ernor had in truth set forth. On the march, as was his cus- 
tom, Antoine de Vergy laid waste all the villages of the loyal 
little wedge of territory with fire and sword. Domremy with 
its adjoining village of Greux lay in the southern part of the 

[1191 



JOAN OF ARC 

castellany, between Bar and Champagne, and was therefore 
directly in the line of attack. Threatened again with a disaster 
with which they were only too well acquainted the folk of the 
two villages met in solemn conclave to determine what was to 
be done. 

Men, women and children were in the assembly that had 
gathered before the little church to discuss the situation; their 
pale faces showing plainly that they realized to the full the 
calamity that menaced them. Life, liberty and property were 
all at stake, for everything would be swept away by the ravag- 
ing Antoine. The very imminence of the danger rendered 
them calm, but it was the calmness of despair. Resistance to 
the force that was with Antoine was out of the question, so 
what could they do? 

"And why not retire to the Castle of the Island, my chil- 
dren?" queried Messire Guillaume Frontey, Cure of Dom- 
remy. "Surely, it hath proved a good refuge in other times 
of need. Is it not a secure stronghold?" 

"We fear not, father," responded a peasant. "Sire An- 
toine boasts that we can not hold it against him, as he knows of 
a secret passage whereby he can obtain entrance when he so 
chooses. We have made search for the passageway, but we 
cannot find it ; though it is known to exist, for there be some in 
the village who have heard of it. Against others we can hold 
the castle ; against him we fear to try." 

"Then may Our Lady preserve ye, my children," exclaimed 
the priest solemnly. "What can be done?" 

"This," cried Jacques D'Arc, suddenly elbowing his way 
through the people until he stood by the Cure's side in full 

[ 120 ] 



A WORSTED SUITOR 

view of every one. "This, father, and friends: let us, as we 
fear to try the castle, gather our furniture in carts ; then, driving 
our cattle and sheep before us, go to Neuf chateau which, being 
a town of Lorraine, will not be attacked. As you know, though 
it be a Burgundian belonging, its sympathies are with the 
Armagnacs." 

"That's it, Jacques!" "Well said!" came from the villagers 
in a chorus of approval. "When shall we go?" 

"Better to-day than to-morrow, friends," shouted Jacques. 
"Better now than later. We know not when they will be 
upon us." 

There were cries of, "Right, Jacques !" followed by a hasty 
dispersal of the people to gather up their goods and cattle. A 
scene of disorder and confusion ensued as men and boys ran to 
the fields for the flocks and herds, which were quickly driven 
into the highroad, and women and girls stripped their linen 
chests and cupboards, and hurriedly piled their furnishings into 
ox carts. 

Isabeau was weeping as she worked, for she might find the 
cottage burned and the village devastated upon her return. 
She had always known war. Her mother and her mother's 
mother had known it. For ninety-one years it had raged, and 
the end was not yet. France was a wreck, a ruin, a desolation. 
Throughout the land there was nothing but pillage, robbery, 
murder, cruel tyranny, the burning of churches and abbeys, and 
the perpetration of horrible crimes. Seeing her grief Jeanne 
went to her mother, and put her arms about her. 

"Be not so sorrowful, mother," she said. "Before many 
years are sped the war will have come to an end. And this is 

[121] 



JOAN OF ARC 

the last time that you will have to flee from the cottage." 

Isabeau brushed away her tears and looked at her daughter 
steadily. "Why do you speak so, Jeanne?" she asked. "It is 
as though you knew." 

"Yes, mother ; I know. It will be as I say. And now let's 
get the rest of the furniture in the cart. Father grows impa- 
tient." 

Curiously enough, Isabeau was comforted. She dried her 
eyes and gave way to grief no more. Jacques came in and see- 
ing Jeanne so helpful, bringing order out of the chaos about 
her, spoke gently to her in quite his old tender manner. So 
that Jeanne's heart was lighter than it had been since her re- 
turn from Bury le Petit. The animals were in the highroad, 
the ox carts were drawn up behind them laden with the be- 
longings of the villagers, the women and children stood ready, 
waiting for the word of departure to be given, to take up the 
line of march to Neuf chateau, when they were thrown into the 
greatest confusion by the advent of a man-at-arms who rode 
among them at speed, crying: 

"March! March while there is time. Vaucouleurs is at- 
tacked, and Sire Antoine hath started a body of men this 
way." 

He was gone before the startled villagers had time to ques- 
tion him. For a time the greatest excitement prevailed, but 
something like order was restored at length, and with lingering, 
despairing looks at the homes they were abandoning the village 
folk started toward Neuf chateau, their market town, lying five 
miles to the southward of Domremy. The day was excessively 

[122] 



A WORSTED SUITOR 

warm, and wearily the village folk followed the road through 
fields of wheat and rye, up the vine clad hills to the town. 
There were many of them, and their chattels were numerous, 
but the citizens received them cordially and lodged them as best 
they could. 

Jacques conducted his family at once to the inn kept by a 
worthy woman, La Rousse by name, whom he knew. The 
move from Domremy had been made none too soon, for Antoine 
de Vergy's men swept into the village but a few hours after 
the departure of its inhabitants, and both Domremy and Greux 
were laid waste. 

To Jeanne the days that followed were tranquil and the 
happiest that she had known for a long time. As in Domremy 
she drove her father's beasts to the fields, and kept his flocks. 
She also helped La Rousse about the household duties, greatly 
to the good dame's satisfaction, and when she was not helping 
her hostess, or tending the cattle she passed all her time in 
church. 

During the first few days of the stay in the market town 
Jeanne saw Colin frequently, but greatly to her relief he for- 
bore to press his attentions upon her. Then she saw him 
no longer, and rejoiced thereat. Her thanksgiving was of 
short duration. 

Dinner was over in the common room of the inn one day, 
and the guests— not numerous as it chanced— had broken up 
into groups ; some lingering at the board where they had eaten, 
others clustering at small tables scattered about the rush 
strewn room. The great chamber, with its dusky walls and 

[123] 



JOAN OF ARC 

blackened beams would have looked gloomy enough on a dark 
day, but the heat and bright sunshine of midsummer made it 
seem cool and restful. 

In the nook formed by the outer angle of the huge projectiDg 
chimney, and so somewhat in the shadow, sat Jeanne waiting 
for the guests to leave the board that she might clear away the 
dinner. Her father and a man with whom he was conversing 
were the last ones to rise, and at once the girl came forward 
to begin her task. As she did so there came the sound of a 
dagger hilt beating upon the outside door at the further end 
of the room. Before Jeanne could reach it to open it the 
heavy door swung open quickly as though thrust inward by a 
strong hasty hand, and there entered a man garbed in priest's 
raiment. Reverent always in her attitude toward priests the 
maiden bowed low before him. 

"Is it your pleasure to have dinner, messire?" she asked 
when she had risen from her obeisance. 

"In due time, my child," he replied. "But first, I would 
speak with a pucelle who is here. One Jeanne, daughter of 
Jacques D'Arc." 

"I am she," spoke the maiden in astonishment. 'What 
would you of me, messire?" 

At this juncture Isabeau, accompanied by La Rousse, en- 
tered the room. The latter hastened forward to welcome the 
newcomer when she paused, arrested by his words: 

"I come from the Bishop of Toul, Judge of the Ecclesiastical 
Court having jurisdiction over Domremy and Greux. He 
cites thee, Jeanne, daughter of Jacques D'Arc, to appear be- 

[ 124] 



A WORSTED SUITOR 

fore him to show cause why thou dost not fulfill thy plighted 
troth to Colin de Greux." 

Throughout the long chamber there was a stir and murmur 
at the words, for Jeanne had become liked and esteemed by 
the guests, who had heard something of Colin's wooing. La 
Rousse went to her in quick sympathy, for the girl stood dumb- 
founded. 

So this was what Colin had been about in his absence? And 
her parents? Were they too concerned in the matter? She 
turned and looked at them searchingly. Isabeau could not 
meet her daughter's eyes, but Jacques met her glance steadily. 
Long father and daughter gazed into each other's eyes; 
Jeanne, with sorrowful reproach ; Jacques with grim determina- 
tion. Then slowly the girl turned again to the priest. 

"When does messire, the bishop, wish to see me?" she asked. 

"The second day from now, pucelle. If upon that day 

cause is not shown why thy pledge to Colin should not be kept 

the judge will deem that the troth stands, and that thy faith 

will be redeemed at once." 

Jeanne inclined her head deeply in acknowledgment, and 
started to leave the room. Isabeau ran to her. 

"It is for thy good, little one. Now will you be ever near 
us. And Colin will make a kind husband." 

So spake Isabeau, but Jeanne made no reply. As she passed 
through the door she heard her mother say: 

"She is as good as married, Jacques. She is too shy, too 
gentle to protest against it. She will do whatever the bishop 

decides without question." 

[125] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Be not too sure of that," spoke La Rousse before Jacques 
could reply. "These gentle maids have a way of turning at 
times, and Jeanne doth not lack spirit." 

"She hath ever been obedient, and will be now," said 
Jacques confidently. "Save for this wild fancy of going to the 
Dauphin she hath ever been most dutiful." 

"Sometimes the gentlest maid will turn if pressed too hard," 
repeated La Rousse. 

And this was exactly what was happening. Jeanne was 
filled with sorrow lhat her parents should uphold Colin in 
trying to force her into an unwelcome marriage. For a brief 
time despair gripped her, for it was foreign to her nature and 
training to protest against those in authority over her, and 
should the judge sustain Colin it would mean the end of her 
mission. And then her soul rose up against it. 

"I will not be forced into this marriage," she decided sud- 
denly. "I will go to Toul, and tell messire, the bishop, the 
truth of the matter. I will go." 

"Go, Daughter of God, and fear naught," came the sweet 
tones of "Her Voices." "Fear naught, for we will aid thee." 

Before the morning broke Jeanne rose to prepare for her 
journey. She knew that at this time the great gates of the 
archway leading into the courtyard of the inn would be closed, 
but there was a door, a small one used privately by La Rousse, 
that opened directly into the street. It was at the back of 
the inn, and unobserved Jeanne reached it, and passed out. It 
was ten leagues from Neufchateau to Toul, and thirty miles 
was a long journey for a young girl to undertake alone and 
on foot. Also the distance lay back through the district over 

[ 126] 



A WORSTED SUITOR 

which Antoine de Vergy's men had swept with fire and sword. 
Roving bands of armed men might be encountered, but Jeanne's 
gentle nature had attained the courage of desperation. She 
feared the marriage more than aught else, and were the action 
not protested there would be no evading it. So, upheld by 
the knowledge that her saints were with her, and an inno- 
cence that was heroic, she made the journey. In perfect 
safety she came at last in the dusk of the evening to Toul 
in Lorraine, footsore and weary, but with a heart serene and 
peaceful. 

There were many churches in the old town, and, as was 
her custom, she at once sought a chapel and prostrated herself 
before the image of the Virgin Mother. Her orisons ended, 
she went forth in search of food and lodging. Jeanne being 
a peasant girl had not the wherewithal to pay her way, and 
so could not go to an inn. But when the condition of the 
land was such that townspeople themselves might become 
refugees should their towns be overcome by an enemy its deni- 
zens welcomed wayfarers warmly. So Jeanne soon found 
shelter with humble folk, and, as she was never idle wherever 
she might be, she gladdened the heart of the dame by helping 
about the house and spinning. And the next morning she went 
to the law courts. 

Colin was already in the chapel, where the bishop was sit- 
ting. His self-satisfied expression gave place to one of sur- 
prise at sight of Jeanne, for he had supposed that she would 
not appear to contest the action. There were many of the 
Domremy people present also, brought hither as Colin's wit- 
nesses. 

[127] 



JOAN OF ARC 

Colin declared that Jeanne had been betrothed to him since 
childhood, and the maiden was much amazed when the vil- 
lagers affirmed after him that they knew such an engage- 
ment existed. After they had spoken the bishop turned to 
the girl kindly and said : 

"And where is thy counsel, my child?" 

"I have none, messire." Jeanne raised her grave eyes to 
the kind ones bent upon her. Eyes that were alight with pur- 
ity and truthfulness. "I need none. I have but to speak the 
truth; have I not?" 

"That is all; but — " The judge paused and regarded the 
slender maiden attentively. She was unlike a peasant maid, 
both in bearing and appearance. Winning and beautiful in 
the fresh bloom of young maidenhood, she had not the manner 
of a maiden who would plight her word, and then disregard it. 
"Proceed, advocate," he said suddenly. "Let her take the 
oath. Swear, my child, with both hands upon the Gospels, 
that you will answer true to the questions that will be asked 

you." 

And kneeling before him Jeanne laid her small hands upon 
the missal, and said simply: 

"I swear, messire." 

Then she answered concerning her name, her country, her 
parents, her godfathers and godmothers. 

"And now, my child, tell me about this promise of marriage 
to Colin de Greux," spoke the bishop. 

"Messire, I never promised to marry him," she answered 
earnestly. "I have plighted my faith to no man." 

"Have you witnesses to prove this?" 

[128] 



A WORSTED SUITOR 

"There are my friends and neighbors, messire. They will 
answer for this." 

The judge leaned forward quickly. 

"They have spoken against you, child. Didst not hear them 
say that they knew of your engagement to Colin?" 

"Yes, messire ; but I would question them." 

"Say on," he said. "It is your right." 

So, one by one, they were recalled to the stand while Jeanne 
asked of each three questions: 

Had he seen her at any of the dances or merry-makings 
with Colin? 

Had he seen her at church, or any public place with Colin? 

Had he ever heard her, Jeanne, speak of being engaged to 
Colin? 

To these questions the witnesses were obliged to answer in 
the negative. 

"Messire, would I not, were I betrothed to this man, go 
abroad with him to church, to dances, or to other public places?" 

"It would seem so, my child; but, unless there were cause 
why should he take this action?" 

"I have ever, messire, found my greatest happiness in going 
to church, and in prayer. For this reason I have received a 
command from my Lord, the King of Heaven, to perform a 
certain task. In pursuance of that command I went to Sire 
Robert de Baudricourt of Vaucouleurs to deliver to him a 
message. Because of this journey my parents, who do not be- 
lieve in my mission, thought that my senses were wandering, 
and conceived the idea that to cure my fancies a marriage would 
be a good thing. 

[129] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Therefore, with their encouragement Colin came. Messire, 
the first time that he did so I told him that it was of no use, for 
marry him I would not. Neither him nor another. Did I 
not, Colin?" 

She turned to the youth so quickly, asking the question with 
such abruptness, gazing steadily at him the while, that Colin, 
taken unawares, nodded affirmation unthinkingly. The bishop 
spoke instantly: 

"Colin de Greux," said he with sternness, "this maiden speaks 
with the sound of truth. It is our opinion that she hath given 
no promise. Therefore, do you make oath again, and say 
whether it was from this maiden, or from her parents that you 
received her faith." 

"It was from her parents," confessed the youth sullenly. 

"And not from the maid at all?" 

"No, messire." 

"The girl hath then plighted no faith to you, and action 
against her is dismissed. You, young man, and her parents 
also would do well to let the marvellous child alone. The 
damsel is simple, good and pious. Nor do I find that her wits 
wander, for without advocate, or witnesses she hath established 
her case. Go in peace." 

Jeanne thanked him with tears, and with full heart returned 
to her abiding place. She had worsted Colin, and set at naught 
her parents' wishes by so doing. How would they receive her? 

Filled with this thought she trudged the thirty miles back 
to Neuf chateau. 



[ 130 ] 




CHAPTER XIII 

Farewell to Home 

*I am by birth a shepherd's daughter, 

'My wit untrained in any kind of art. 

Heaven, and our Lady gracious, hath it pleased 

To shine on my contemptible estate: . . . 

God's mother deigned to appear to me; 

And, in a vision full of majesty, 

Willed me to leave my base vocation, 

And free my country from calamity." 

Shakespeare, First Part, "Henry Sixth.' 



TO Jeanne's surprise she was welcomed warmly. Certain 
of the Domremy people who had been Colin's witnesses 
preceded her into Neuf chateau, and by the time she ar- 
rived all the village folk were cognizant of what had occurred. 
A reaction in her favor had set in; for, not only had she con- 
ducted her case without any aid whatsoever, but the bishop had 
commended her, and had spoken sharply to Colin, who now be- 
came the laughing stock of his neighbors. All the world loves 

[131] 



JOAN OF ARC 

a lover, but it has only contempt for the suitor who brings 
ridicule upon either himself or his beloved. 

Isabeau folded her daughter in her arms, holding her close 
to her heart and shuddering at the thought of the perilous 
journey the child had made rather than submit to an unwel- 
come marriage ; while Jacques, moved out of his usual taciturn- 
ity, spoke to her with something of pride in his tones. For 
the first time it occurred to these good people that their daugh- 
ter differed from other village maidens, and therefore required 
dissimilar treatment. More than once Jeanne found her par- 
ents regarding her with curious, puzzled looks, as though they 
wondered if she were in very truth their daughter. 

La Rousse openly rejoiced at the outcome of the affair, 
and wished the maiden to remain with her indefinitely. But 
to this neither Jeanne or her parents would consent. And, 
after a fortnight's stay, the family returned to Domremy. 

Antoine de Vergy had done the work of despoliation thor- 
oughly. Incensed because the villeins had fled with their cat- 
tle and belongings, thereby depriving him of booty and ransom 
which he could not exact from the chief men of the village by 
reason of their flight, he had ravaged and burned with more 
than his usual fury. The crops were entirely destroyed; the 
monastery, once as proud as a fortress with its square watch- 
man's tower, was now nothing but a heap of blackened ruins; 
the church also was burned, so that the Domremy folk must 
needs go to the church at Greux to hear mass; and but few 
cottages were left standing. But the people had their flocks 
and herds, and their house furnishings ; then too it was summer ; 
so, bravely, with the patience engendered by long suffering 

[ 132] 



FAREWELL TO HOME 

they set to work once more to rebuild, rethatch, and repair their 
homes. As before, they lived in the castle while the work went 
on. 

A veritable reign of terror was in all the region about. The 
misery and discomfort were inconceivable; yet somehow life 
went on. So the Summer waned, and with the first days of 
Autumn came the dire intelligence that Orleans, the strong in- 
dependent old city sometimes called the key of the Loire, was 
besieged by the English. Should it fall France could not be 
saved. 

The English acted badly in laying siege to the town of 
Orleans, for it belonged to Duke Charles, who had been a 
prisoner in their hands since the battle of Agincourt. Having 
possession of his body they ought to have respected his prop- 
erty, as was the custom. This conduct was regarded as un- 
precedented treachery, and Domremy buzzed with talk as pil- 
grims related tales of what was occurring. The English had 
built, it was said, fortified towers around the city, the very heart 
of France ; and entrenched themselves there in great strength. 
The Tourelles were taken already, and the city was so invested 
that its inhabitants were starving. 

"Such a thing is unheard of," declared Jacques in the priv- 
acy of the cottage. "It is a deed unknown among the very 
Saracens. Who could guess that lords and knights of the 
Christian faith, holding captive the gentle Duke of Orleans, 
would besiege his own city? The leaguer is a great villainy." 

"The leaguer is a great villainy." Jeanne repeated the 
words to herself, for the tidings of the siege were of the saddest 
to her. Her attachment to all the Royal House was strong, 

[133] 



JOAN OF ARC 

and especially so to the captive poet. Sorrowfully she sought 
comfort from her "Voices" who loved the Land of the Lilies. 

"Have no fear, Daughter of God," they said consolingly. 
"Orleans shall be delivered, and by thee. Thy time is at hand. 
Go into France, and raise the siege which is being made before 
the city. Go, Daughter of God. Go!" 

So they urged continually. But again the valley was 
shrouded in the cold white garb of winter, and still there seemed 
no way for her to leave the village. Over her girl heart hung 
the dread of leaving home and friends, though never once did 
she falter in her purpose. She was steadfast to that. The 
yoke of obedience always strong in the mind of a French maiden 
would not permit her lightly to disobey her parents. Jeanne 
was much troubled over it. They would never give consent. 
If she went she must go without it. No longer did they keep 
watch over her. Jacques had been more considerate of his 
daughter since she had shown herself capable of such resistance 
as she had given against Colin. Then too the raid of de 
Vergy's men-at-arms, the flight to Neuf chateau with the after 
effects, and now the consternation felt by all loyal Frenchmen 
over the news of Orleans' plight; these things had driven all 
thought of Jeanne's fancy from their minds. She had been so 
dutiful, had submitted so sweetly to the espionage, and had 
shown no disposition to return to Vaucouleurs even though the 
journey to Toul had provided opportunity for it had she been 
so minded, that the parents no longer regarded such a journey 
as a possibility. Jeanne knew all this. 

But they knew that she still had her purpose in mind, for 
the maiden had talked freely about it. Jeanne knew what 

[ 134] 



FAREWELL TO HOME 

she had to do, and longed to be about it. Again and again 
she sought help from her "Voices." They became peremptory 
in their commands, absolving her from the obedience due her 
parents. God's command was higher, and this she must. obey. 
So, certain as to her mission, she was inaccessible either to 
remonstrance or appeal. Now she looked about for means to 
accomplish her purpose. 

The Old Year glided into the vale of discarded years, and 
the New Year ushered in January of 1429, which brought 
Jeanne's seventeenth birthday. The sixth was cold and stormy, 
but if it was bleak and wintry without, within the cottage it was 
cheery and comfortable. The family gathered around a great 
fire of faggots on the afternoon of that day, each one busied 
with homely, needful work. Jacques and his eldest son, 
Jacquemin, were mending harness ; Jean and Pierre were shell- 
ing corn against the next feed of the cattle; little Catherine, as 
she was still called, was polishing the copper and pewter on 
the dresser, while Jeanne and her mother sewed and spun 
alternately. All at once the crunching of wheels on the frosty 
snow was heard, followed shortly by a loud "Hallo!" as a 
vehicle stopped before the door. Jacques laid down his work 
with an exclamation. 

"Now who can it be that fares forth in such weather to go 
visiting?" he said. "Open the door, Pierre, and see who is 
there." 

But Jeanne was already at the door before her father had 
finished speaking, and opened it wide to the visitor. She gave 
an ejaculation of joy as she saw who stood without. 

"Come in, Uncle Durand," she said. "You look cold." 

[135] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"And feel also, ma mie." Lassois made at once for the great 
fire. "Jacques, man, you have cause to be thankful that you 
need not fare from the fireside on such a day as this. Pierre, 
will you see to the oxen? The poor brutes are well nigh frozen, 
and so am I." 

"Ye look it, Durand," spoke Jacques. "There ! come nearer 
to the fire. Isabeau, a hot drink will warm his vitals. Wel- 
come, Lassois, welcome! 'Tis a cold day." 

"It is," agreed Durand, rubbing his hands before the blaze. 

"And how is Aveline?" asked Isabeau, as she placed a hot 
drink before him. 

"She is not well, Isabeau, and the baby is peevish. It is that 
that brings me here to-day. Her father hath been taken with 
a distemper, and her mother is all taken up in looking after 
him. So Aveline wishes that Jeanne might come to stay for a 
short time. Will you let her go, Jacques?" 

Jeanne listened anxiously for her father's answer. She did 
not believe that he would give consent. Indeed Jacques was 
silent a long time before he made reply, but at length he said 
slowly: 

"I see no harm in her going, Lassois. It hath been dreary 
here this winter, and the work heavy. She may go and stay 
with you three weeks, since Aveline is ailing. That is, if her 
mother is willing." 

"Why, yes," spoke Isabeau quickly. "With a young baby 
Aveline needs some one with her to look after things. And 
it will give Jeanne a chance to hear the news. I doubt not 
but that Aveline will have much to tell her that will be of in- 
terest." 

[ 136] 



FAREWELL TO HOME 

Jeanne was amazed at the readiness with which the consent 
was given. She had not thought they would let her go, and 
it caused her wonder. But certainly they could not suppose 
that she would seek Robert de Baudricourt a second time, or 
perhaps Jacques relied upon Sire Robert's good sense to send 
her home if she should seek him. So it was arranged that the 
maiden should return with Lassois to Bury le Petit the next 
day. 

There was little sleep for the young girl that night. She 
knew that it was the last time that she would ever be in her own 
home, for she was resolved to go to Vaucouleurs as soon as 
Aveline was better. In this she would deliberately disobey 
her parents, but there was no other way. 

"I would rather be torn apart by wild horses than go against 
their wishes," she said to herself with tears. "But God com- 
mands it, and I must go." 

Her destiny called, and she followed the summons. All 
earthly ties must be subservient to her great purpose. Suffer- 
ing France must be relieved, and it was her mission to give the 
aid. 

Her time had come. 

Therefore her good-byes to her parents, brothers, and little 
sister were very tender. She dared not speak of her mission, 
and if her loved ones noticed the tenderness of farewells that 
so short an absence did not seem to warrant they knew not the 
reason for them. So Jeanne passed from her father's house, 
and climbed into the cart. 

Mengette, whose home was near by, was at the window as 
Lassois' cart passed. Jeanne waved to her, crying: 

[137] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Good-by, Mengette. God bless thee." 

All through the village she saw faces of friends and neigh- 
bors at the windows, or on their doorsteps, and bade them fare- 
well. But as she drew near the home of Hauviette, and Las- 
sois stopped for her to call to her friend, Jeanne shook her 
head. 

"I can not speak to her, uncle," she said chokingly. "I 
dare not. My heart would fail me, for I love her too dearly 
to say good-by." 

At Greux as they passed through she saw Colin in one of 
the narrow streets. Jeanne leaned out of the cart to call 
to him. 

"Good-by, Colin," she said. "God give you good fortune." 

"Where are you going?" spoke the youth shamefacedly. He 
had avoided Jeanne since the meeting at Toul. 

"I go to Vaucouleurs," she dared to say. "Good-by." 

"To Vaucouleurs?" repeated Lassois, turning to look at her 
as they left Colin behind. "But Aveline, Jeanne?" 

"Did you think that I would leave her while she has need 
of me, Uncle Durand?" asked the maiden reproachfully. 

"No, Jeanne ; I knew that you would not. 'Twas a second 
only that I doubted." Durand swung his goad over the oxen's 
backs as he spoke, and the beasts swung into a trot. 

But Jeanne turned for a last look at the valley she was leav- 
ing forever. Long she gazed at the red roofs of the village; 
at the ice bound river with its rushes rimed with frost; at 
the forest, bare and leafless; at the snow covered hills, and 
white shrouded meadows; at all the familiar objects hallowed 

[138] 



FAREWELL TO HOME 

by association. Gazed until her tear-blinded eyes would per- 
mit her to look no more. 

And so down the Valley of Colors for the last time passed 
Jeanne D'Arc. 



[ 139] 



CHAPTER XIV 

Victory Over Doubting Hearts 

"Yet the true Poetry — herself, like thee, 

Childlike; herself, like thee, a shepherd maid — i &SSJ 
Gives thee her birthright of Divinity, 

And lifts unto the stars thy starry shade. 
Thy brows receive the aureole of her sky; 
The Heart created thee — thou canst not die." 

Schiller, "The Maid of Orleans." 

JEANNE stayed at her uncle's house with Aveline until 
the latter was quite well. Then, there being nothing 
further to hinder, she asked Lassois to take her to Vau- 
couleurs. 

"Jacques won't like it, Jeanne," feebly remonstrated Du- 
rand, knowing full well that notwithstanding the fact he would 
do as his niece wished. "He didn't before, you know; and 
neither did Isabeau." 

"I must go, Uncle Durand. Though I had a hundred fa- 
thers, or a hundred mothers, though I were the daughter of a 
King, I still should go. It is commanded." 

Durand made no further objection, though he knew that 

[ 140] 



VICTORY OVER DOUBTING HEARTS 

both Jacques and Isabeau would censure him for yielding to 
her. He saw that Jeanne was not to be turned from her pur- 
pose, so made ready for the journey. Perhaps, like Jacques, 
he relied on the common sense of the Sire Robert to send the 
girl home, for he was cheerful enough when presently they 
were on their way to Vaucouleurs. 

"You will return with me, Jeanne? This visit is for the 

day only, is it not?" 

"No, uncle. I shall stay in Vaucouleurs until the Sire Cap- 
tain gives me men-at-arms to take me to the Dauphin." 

"And if he does not? What then?" 

"He will in time, Uncle Durand. My Voices have said so," 
responded the maiden confidently. 

Lassois sat for a time without speaking. There was as 
much awe as affection in the regard he bore his young kins- 
woman, and when she wore a look of exaltation as on this 
morning he felt as he did at the ringing of the angelus. But 
there was a practical side to the affair to be looked after as 
well as a spiritual, and he wished to be able to put the best face 
possible on the matter before Jacques; so after a little he 

queried : 

"And where shall you bide at Vaucouleurs? Have you 

thought of that?" 

"Why, yes, uncle. Mother has a friend, one Catherine le 
Royer, who lives in the town. I shall go to her. I am sure 
that she will give me welcome for mother's sake." 

"Now that is well," spoke Lassois in relieved tones. "I 
know Catherine, and her husband also. Henri le Royer, the 
wheelwright, he is. Good people they are, and pious." 

[141] 



JOAN OF ARC 

By this time they had reached the little walled town nestling 
among the low hills of the valley, and again Jeanne passed 
up the steep slopes of the hill upon which the castle stood. 

As before when she had gone to him Robert de Baudricourt 
sat at meat with his captains. There was no smile on his face 
this time, however, when, in answer to the request that they 
might speak with him Jeanne and her uncle were ushered into 
the great dining hall. No smile, though Lassois was awkward 
and ill at ease, and Jeanne still wore the red homespun dress, 
and the village coif of the peasant. There was not the least 
flicker of amusement in his countenance as he said : 

"Well, my little maid, what brings thee here this time?" 

Jeanne courtesied low before she replied: 

"My Lord Captain, know that God has commanded me 
many times to go to the gentle Dauphin, who must be and who 
is the true King of France, that he shall grant me men-at-arms 
with whom I shall raise the siege at Orleans, and take him to 
his anointing at Reims. And you, Sire Captain, must send or 
take me to him. It is commanded." 

For a long time Robert de Baudricourt sat silent, regard- 
ing the maiden with a troubled look. She was so earnest, was 
evidently so sincere in her demand, that he was perplexed. 
Was she inspired, or possessed? That was what his expression 
said as he gazed at her. If inspired her aid was not to be 
despised. If possessed she ought to be dealt with forthwith. 
In truth he knew not what to say to her. His own situation 
was far from pleasant. When Antoine de Vergy had raged 
through the valley the previous Summer he had infested the 
town of Vaucouleurs, and de Baudricourt had been obliged to 

[142] 




THERE WAS NO SMILE ON HIS FACE 



VICTORY OVER DOUBTING HEARTS 

yield it to him, though he had not yet given possession. 
It was one of those capitulations, common in those days, by 
which the Commander of a garrison promised to surrender his 
fortress by the end of a given time. This promise, however, 
ceased to be valid should the fortress be relieved before the day 
fixed for its surrender. So Sire Robert's own condition was 
acute, and if the Dauphin were not in a position to come to 
his relief he himself would be caught in the coils of the enemy. 
Any promise of deliverance, however humble, was not to be 
treated lightly. Therefore, if he did not believe in Jeanne's 
announcement he at least listened to it readily. At length he 

said: 

"This matter should be given some thought, my little maid. 
Where do you bide? I would speak with you further con- 
cerning this." 

There was a stir of surprise among his men, for they noted 
with amazement that the Captain addressed the maiden as an 

equal. 

"With Catherine le Royer, the wheelwright's wife, messire," 

answered Jeanne. 

"I will speak with you again," repeated Sire Robert. And 
Jeanne and Lassois, understanding that the interview was 
over for this time, withdrew. 

Catherine and Henri le Royer were folk of Jeanne's own 
humble station. The good dame welcomed the girl warmly, 
at first for her mother's sake and then for her own. Jeanne 
had ever a way with women and girls, and but few days had 
elapsed ere she had completely won the heart of her hostess by 
her gentle ways, her skill in sewing and spinning, and her 

[ 143] 



JOAN OF ARC 

earnest faith. Together they attended mass at the parish 
church, spun, sewed, or busied themselves about the house. 
Sometimes Jeanne climbed the hill to the royal chapel which 
adjoined the Governor's castle, for there was a wonderful 
image of the Virgin in the crypt of Saint Mary's before which 
she loved to pray. 

News of her mission, the tidings that a young girl was come, 
who was appointed by God to save France spread through the 
town and surrounding country. The people flocked to see her, 
and those who came believed, won by her earnestness and sim- 
ple sincerity. They were in no uncertainty at all as to her 
mission. A little mob hung about the cottage door to see her 
come and go, chiefly to church. The saying, "France lost by a 
woman shall be restored by a maid from the Marches of Lor- 
raine," was on every lip. And the excitement grew. 

Again and again Jeanne sought the Governor, saying: 

"I must to the gentle Dauphin. It is the will of Messire, the 
King of Heaven, that I should wend to the gentle Dauphin. 
I am sent by the King of Heaven. I must go even if I go 
on my knees. My Lord Captain, in God's name, send me to 
the gentle Dauphin." 

But Sire Robert, — though he listened to her readily enough, 
and, impressed in spite of himself by her intense fervour, per- 
ceived a certain seriousness in the business, — remained deaf to 
her pleadings. He could not believe. What, a young girl 
fair and lovely as was this peasant maid to deliver France? 
The thing was absurd; and yet — he dared not send her home 
lest after all there might be truth in what she claimed. And 
so the matter rested. 

[144] 



VICTORY OVER DOUBTING HEARTS 

The days dawned and waned, and still the men-at-arms were 
not provided. Jeanne shed bitter tears over the delay. She 
believed so implicitly in her Voices that she could not under- 
stand why others did not have the same faith. And the fame 
of her grew and spread, going out into the country even be- 
yond the valley. 

One day, as she was on her way to mass, a young man-at-arms 
pushed his way through the crowd which had gathered to see 
her to have a word with the wonderful peasant maid. 

"Well, ma mie," he said banteringly, "what are you doing 
here? Must the King be driven from his Kingdom, and we all 
turn English?" 

"I came hither to the King's territory, messire, to speak 
with Sire Robert that he may take me, or cause me to be taken 
to the Dauphin ; but he heeds neither me nor my words. Not- 
withstanding, ere mid-Lent I must be before the Dauphin, 
were I in going to wear my legs to my knees." 

The reply was given with such intent seriousness that the 
young knight was impressed, and he spoke more gently: 

"Know you not, maiden, that Louis, the little son of Charles, 
hath just been betrothed to the infant daughter of the King of 
Scotland? King James is to send Madame Margaret to 
France with an army of six thousand men before Whitsunday, 
which, as you know, is in May. What need, therefore, is there 
for you, a young girl, to go to the Dauphin?" 

"I must go to the Dauphin, messire; for no one in the world, 
no king or duke or daughter of the King of Scotland 1 can 

i "Madame Margaret did not come to France until seven years later. The six 
thousand men never did come. Jeanne did." — Andrew Lang. 

[ 145 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

restore the realm of France. In me alone is help, albeit for 
my part, I would far rather be spinning by my poor mother's 
side, for this life is not to my liking. But I must go, and so 
I will, for it is Messire's command that I should go," 

"Who is Messire?" asked he. 

"He is God," she answered. 

The young man was moved. He stretched out his hands 
suddenly as though he believed in spite of himself, and laid 
his hands between hers. 

"There!" said he. "I, Jean de Novelonpont, commonly 
called Jean de Metz, pledge you my word, knightly fashion, 
my hands in your hands in token of fealty, that God helping 
me I will take you to the King." 

"You will, messire?" cried Jeanne joyfully. 

"On my word of honour I promise it. When will you set 
forth?" 

"This hour is better than to-morrow; to-morrow is better 
than after to-morrow," she told him, her face illumined with 
smiles. It was the first gleam of hope that had lightened the 
weary days of waiting. 

"I will make preparations at once," he said, moved by her 
zeal and by her strong sense of the necessity of immediate op- 
erations. Then as he started to leave her, he turned. 

"Would you travel in that garb, pucelle?" 1 he asked hesi- 
tatingly. 

Jeanne smiled, divining the difficulties he foresaw were she 
to retain her woman's garb in travelling. She had already 

i Pucelle — virgin, maid. 

[ 146 ] 



VICTORY OVER DOUBTING HEARTS 

given the matter thought, and perceived that if she were to live 
among soldiers she must change the dress she wore. So she 
answered promptly: 

"I will willingly dress as a man. In truth, it would be more 
seemly." 

De Metz nodded approval, and went his way. After this, 
because joys like sorrows come not singly, one after another 
began to believe in her. In a few days another man-at-arms 
came to her. He was an older man than de Metz and a graver. 
At his salutation Jeanne looked at him intently. 

"Have I not seen you somewhere, messire?" she asked. 

"I think not," he answered lightly. "Methinks I should not 
have forgotten it had we ever met. Yet stay!" bending a keen 
glance upon her. "Are not you the little maid who dressed 
my wounded arm at your father's house in Domremy ?" 

"It may be, messire." 

"It is," he affirmed. "The wound healed quickly, for the 
treatment was good. So you are that little maid? And now 
you have come here with a mission? Tell me of it, pucelle. 
Can you in very truth do as you say : raise the siege of Orleans, 
and bring the King to his anointing?" 

"Not I, messire; but my Lord, the King of Heaven, will 
do it through me. I am but his humble instrument." 

"Tell me of it," he said again. "I have talked with Jean de 
Metz, but I would hear of it from you." 

There was no need for reserve concerning her mission, so 
Jeanne talked of it freely to him. Indeed she did so to 
whomsoever wished to hear about it. And when she had 

[147] 



JOAN OF ARC 

made an end of the telling Bertrand de Poulengy placed his 
hands in hers as de Metz had done, and pledged her fealty, 
knightly fashion. 

But though the men-at-arms were willing to set forth at once 
there was still delay ; for, being in service with Sire Robert, they 
could not leave without his consent. Jeanne became impatient, 
knowing that Orleans could not hold out forever. She was 
cast down, not through want of faith in her divine mission, but 
because of the obstacles which unbelieving men like Baudricourt 
were putting in her way. 

"In God's name, gentle Robert," she cried one day, meeting 
him at the foot of the hill where his castle stood, "you are too 
slow about sending me. This day hath a great disaster hap- 
pened to the Dauphin. Send me quickly lest a worse befall 
him." 

"A disaster hath befallen the Dauphin?" exclaimed Sire 
Robert. "How could you know that a disaster hath befallen 
him to-day?" 

"My Voices have told me," she made answer. "A battle 
hath been lost near Orleans. Sire Robert, I must be sent to 
him." 

"I will see, I will see," he said, looking troubled. "If this 
be true, as you have said, then shall you go to him. But is it 
by evil or by good spirits that you speak?" 

Without waiting for a reply he left her abruptly. As 
Jeanne sat spinning with Catherine le Royer the next morning 
she was greatly surprised when the door opened suddenly, and 
the Governor himself, accompanied by Jean Fournier, the par- 

[148] 



VICTORY OVER DOUBTING HEARTS 

ish priest, entered. At a sign from Sire Robert, Catherine 
quitted the room, and Jeanne was left with the two men. The 
priest immediately put on his stole, and pronounced some Latin 
words : 

"If thou be evil, away with thee; if thou be good, draw 
nigh." With this he sprinkled holy water about the room, 
and upon her. 

Jeanne was hurt when she heard the words, for it was the 
formula used for exorcism. It was believed that if the village 
maiden were possessed of evil spirits they would be driven away. 
Having recited the formula and sprinkled holy water the priest 
expected, if the girl were possessed, to see her struggle and 
writhe in the effort to take flight. But there was nothing sus- 
picious in Jeanne's attitude. There was no wild agitation or 
frenzy. She had fallen on her knees when the priest put on 
his stole, and now anxiously, entreatingly, she dragged herself 
to him. Messire Jean Fournier stretched forth his hand in 
benediction over her. 

"Whatever be the spirit with which she is filled, it is naught 
of evil," he said to Robert de Baudricourt. 

With this the two men left the cottage as abruptly as they 
had entered it. Jeanne burst into tears, and so Catherine 
found her. 

"Messire Jean should not have used me so," sobbed the 
maiden as she related the happening to her hostess. "I have 
confessed to him daily since I came to Vaucouleurs, and he 
should have known what manner of girl I was." 

"There, there, little one," soothed Catherine, tenderly. "He 

[ 149] 



JOAN OF ARC 

but did it to please the Sire Captain. Perchance now that 
the gentle Robert knows that evil spirits do not possess thee, 
he will give thee aid." 

The exorcism did in truth help Jeanne's cause with the 
Governor. If the young girl were not possessed of evil it 
followed naturally that the power in her must be good; there- 
fore he was at last willing to aid her. Secretly he had already 
sent a messenger to the King telling of the maiden, her mission, 
her saintly way of living, and asking that he might send her to 
him. He but waited the consent of Charles before starting 
Jeanne on her journey. This she did not learn until later. 

Meantime she was restless. She longed to be about her 
work, and there seemed naught but hindrances. She felt that 
she must start, for she must be with the Dauphin by mid-Lent, 
and the time was short. One day Lassois came to see how she 
was, and also to bring news of her parents ; for Jeanne had sent 
them a letter praying for their forgiveness and blessing. As 
she could neither read nor write the Cure had written it for 
her, and he had added details of the life she was living, her 
good deeds, her saintly ways, and aught else that he thought 
would set their minds at rest concerning her. Now she listened 
eagerly as Durand told her how the letter had been received. 

"Jacques has heard a great deal about you from the people, 
Jeanne. Know you not that the whole countryside is talking 
of you? He has known all along how you were living, and 
what you were doing. He is still not reconciled to your leav- 
ing home, but he said that so long as you lived a good life you 
had his blessing and forgiveness. Isabeau wept when she 
heard the letter, but she sends love, and prays you to make 

[150] 



VICTORY OVER DOUBTING HEARTS 

short work of the matter that you may soon be home again." 

"Would that I might, Uncle Durand," groaned the girl. 
"But there seems naught but hindrance and delay. I should 
like to be at home with mother; if my work were done I could 
be. The time is so short. I can not, I must not wait longer." 
She bowed her head and wept. Presently she dashed away the 
tears and turned to Durand as though an idea had come to her : 
"Uncle Durand," she cried, "Will you take me into France?" 

"You mean to walk there, Jeanne?" he asked amazed. " 'Tis 
said to be all of a hundred and fifty leagues to where the 
Dauphin bides at Chinon." 

"Even so, I must go. If Sire Robert will not give me men- 
at-arms I must go without them. Will you go with me?" 

"Yes," he assented readily. Had Jeanne not been so pre- 
occupied she would have seen the smile that lurked in his eyes. 
Lassois was a hard-headed, practical man, and he knew that 
the plan was not feasible. He hoped that his niece would see 
it too, so he added: "I will get Alain to go with us. 'Tis 
a dangerous journey even with men-at-arms for escort. When 
do we start?" 

"At once," cried the maiden eagerly. "The sooner the bet- 
ter. When the siege is raised, and the Dauphin crowned, I 
can go back home. And I will not leave them again. Go ! get 
Alain, and let us start." 

Lassois left her, and Jeanne made her preparations quickly. 
Procuring a man's jerkin, hose and doublet, she arrayed her- 
self in them, and when Lassois returned with Alain, a friend 
of his who lived in Vaucouleurs, the three set forth. They had 
proceeded a league on the road to France when they came to 

[ 151 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

the shrine of Saint Nicholas, and this Jeanne entered as was 
her wont, and prostrated herself in prayer. When she arose 
the impatience, the restlessness were gone. She faced her 
companions with contrition. 

"I was wrong," she said with deep humility. "It is not meet 
that I go to the Dauphin in this manner. We must go back." 

Durand's countenance expanded into a broad grin. 

"Said I not so, Alain?" he cried, nudging his friend. "I 
said that she would soon see that it was not fitting that she 
should go thus. I said that soon we would turn back." 

Alain laughed also as Jeanne gazed at her uncle in astonish- 
ment. 

"How did you know, uncle?" 

"Why see, ma mie ; the King would not receive you should 
you go to him thus humbly; but if you come from the Sire 
Captain with proper escort 'twill be easy to get his ear." 

"I see," sighed Jeanne. "I was wrong. We will go back." 

She waited with more grace after this, and presently there 
came a day when her patience was rewarded. The messenger 
from the King rode into Vaucouleurs bearing a letter to the 
Governor which gave consent to send the young prophetess to 
him. Sire Robert sent at once for the maiden. 

"You were right," he said. "There was a disaster as you 
said near Orleans. The Battle of Herrings was lost at Rouv- 
ray. Colet de Vienne, the King's messenger, tells me that 
Charles will receive you. Therefore, get you ready, for now 
you shall start for Chinon in a few days." 

Overjoyed Jeanne hastened back to her friends to tell the 
glad news. The impossible had happened. That which the 

[152] 



VICTORY OVER DOUBTING HEARTS 

peasant maid had demanded was granted. She was to be 
taken to the King, and in the time fixed by herself. 

The sweetness, the simplicity, the sturdy purpose of the 
maiden had won all hearts in the little walled town. Knowl- 
edge of her mission had deepened the interest felt in her, so 
now, as she was in very truth to begin her journey, they took 
upon themselves the expense of her outfit. A complete suit 
of masculine apparel was bought, a jerkin, a cloth doublet, 
hose laced to the coat, gaiters, spurs, a whole equipment of 
war, while Sire Robert gave her a horse. And Jeanne, with 
one girlish sigh at the sacrifice, took off her coif, let down her 
long dark locks, and gave a last look at them; then Catherine 
cut them round, page fashion, the maiden set on a cap, and 
was ready. 

Jean de Metz and Bertrand de Poulengy were to accompany 
her, as well as the King's messenger, Colet de Vienne, and the 
bowman, Richard, with two lancers, servants of the men-at- 
arms. These men proposed further waiting, as certain soldiers 
of Lorraine were infesting the country, but the maiden was not 
afraid, and said: 

"In God's name, take me to the gentle Dauphin, and fear not 
any hindrance or trouble we may meet. There hath been too 
much delay." 

At length, however, everything was in readiness, and on the 
twenty-third of February, the little company assembled be- 
fore the gate, La Porte de France, with friends to watch the 
departure. Among them were the kind Lassois, Catherine and 
Henri le Royer, Jean Colin, canon of Saint Nicholas, to whom 
Jeanne had confessed at times. 

[153] 



JOAN OF ARC 

The women trembled and wept as they looked at the girl, so 
fair in her young loveliness, and feared for her the perils of 
the journey. One of them cried: 

"How can you set forth on such a journey when there are 
men-at-arms on every hand?" 

But Jeanne turned a happy face toward them, and answered 
out of the serene peace of her heart : 

"I do not fear men-at-arms. My way has been made plain 
before me. If there be men-at-arms my Lord God will make 
a way for me to go to my Lord Dauphin. For this I was 
born." 

Sire Robert also was present, and as he gazed at the bright 
face of the maiden his grim old heart was touched. 

"Swear," he said, making Jean de Metz kneel before him. 
"Swear that you will deliver this maiden whom I have confided 
to your care safely and surely to the King." 

And De Metz answered solemnly: 

"I swear." 

And so from each and every man the Governor took the oath. 
Then belting his own sword about the girl's slender waist, he 
said: 

"Go! and come of it what may." 
' And off into the mists that enveloped the meadows of the 
Meuse rode the little company down the road into France. 



[154] 




CHAPTER XV 

Starting the Great Adventure 

"The character of Joan of Arc is unique. It can be 
measured by the standards of all times without misgiving 
or apprehension as to the result. Judged by any of them, 
judged by all of tJiem, it is still flawless, it is still ideally 
perfect; it still occupies the loftiest place possible to 
human attainment, a loftier one than has been reached 
by any other mere mortal" 

Mark Twain. Preface — "Personal Recollections 

of Joan of Arc." 



AND so began this strange ride; the strangest that was 
ever made. There were a thousand perils to be 
encountered: great rivers to be crossed; great forests 
infested by wolves to be traversed ; trackless spaces of a coun- 
try, half of which was hostile — full of every danger of war, to 
be covered. 

Jeanne had been told many times of the risks of the journey; 
but, happy in the knowledge that she was at last on her way 
to the Dauphin, no peril, no danger seemed formidable. She 
had no fear of marauding bands, nor did she feel anxiety con- 

[155] 



JOAN OF ARC 

cerning the conduct of her companions. A great peace filled 
her soul. She had begun her work. How it was all to end 
for her she neither foresaw nor asked ; she only knew what she 
had to do. So light hearted did she appear that Bertrand de 
Poulengy wondered at it. Jeanne noticed him regarding her 
curiously. 

"What is it, messire?" she asked. 

"It will be a hard, tiresome ride, Pucelle." 

"I know, messire." 

"To sit in the saddle long hours is most fatiguing. Have 
you been accustomed to riding?" 

"No, messire. I never rode at all until I came to Vau- 
couleurs." 

"You did not? I can hardly believe that, Pucelle." He 
gave a glance of frank admiration at the slight, erect figure 
sitting her horse so martially. "You ride as though born to 
the saddle, which is well, for the journey will tax your en- 
durance to the utmost. We stop to-night at the Abbey of 
Saint Urbain for rest and refreshment, but to-morrow and 
thereafter we shall be obliged to rest in the open fields. We 
must avoid the frequented roads and the cities held by the Eng- 
lish, therefore we can not go to the inns. There will be many 
dangers." 

"What do you fear, messire?" 

"That we shall never reach Chinon," he answered gloomily. 
"The hazards are too great. I thought that the Captain would 
give us more of an escort, but we be but seven all told. Of 
what avail would such a small number be against an attacking 
force of freebooters?" 

[156] 




FAR INTO THE NIGHT THEY RODE 



STARTING THE GREAT ADVENTURE 

But Jeanne turned a smiling face toward him; a face as 
blithe and bright as that of a fair youth. 

"Have no fear," she said, with calm confidence. "My 
brothers in Paradise will watch over us." 

"Will you really do what you say?" he questioned. 

"I will do what I am commanded to do, messire. My 
brethren in Paradise tell me what I have to do. It is now four 
years since my brethren in Paradise and Messire told me that I 
must go forth to war to deliver the realm of France." 

But Poulengy, De Metz, and their companions had not the 
maiden's confidence. Now that the irrevocable step was taken 
and they were actually embarked upon this wild adventure the 
chill of reflection was upon them. Was the girl really an in- 
spired prophetess, or a witch? If the former, all would be 
well with them should they reach Chinon in safety; if the 
latter, they were liable to come to the gallows for bringing a 
witch to court. So many doubts and misgivings assailed them 
as they rode forward. 

Far into the night they rode, stopping at length at the Abbey 
of Saint Urbain on the right bank of the Marne for rest. 
From time immemorial the Abbey had been a place of refuge, 
and it gave them a cordial welcome. Jeanne was glad to lay 
her wearied body upon the rude cot in the house set apart for 
the use of strangers, but she was up early next morning, and 
attended conventual mass; then she and her companions took 
horse again. Crossing the Marne by the bridge opposite Saint 
Urbain they pressed on towards France. 

They were in more dangerous ground now, so they proceeded 
more stealthily. Bertrand de Poulengy and Jean de Metz, 

[157] 



JOAN OF ARC 

being hardened campaigners and accustomed to such expedi- 
tions, knew the by-ways, and were acquainted with the means 
necessary to travel quietly. Sometimes the days were sunlit, 
and the nights moonlit ; at other times, there was rain, or sleet, 
or snow, but whatever the weather they rode and rode. Jeanne 
was always cheerful, always confident, always good-humoured. 
The King's messenger, Colet de Vienne, Sire Bertrand and 
Jean de Metz were hot-headed, hot-hearted soldiers of fortune, 
neither over-scrupulous nor over-pious, but they learned to re- 
gard the young girl in their charge with reverence and awe. It 
was a feeling that strangely combined chivalry and religion. 
She was so devout, so clean-spirited, that there was nothing to 
be done but to believe in her goodness, her purity, and her faith. 
If they did not altogether believe in her visions they believed 
that she believed, and they came to think of her as nothing less 
than a saint. 

"Truly, Bertrand, she comes from God," declared De Metz 
one day upon his return from a town where he had gone in 
search of food. The party dared not enter the place for fear 
of detection. The news was broadcast over the country that the 
inspired Maid of Vaucouleurs was proceeding to the King un- 
der escort, and the knights feared an encounter with some band 
of the enemy. "She has not much money; that I know, yet 
she gave me alms to give to the poor. And this she does when- 
ever we draw near to a town." 

"She is a saint," avowed De Poulengy. "I think she must be 
inspired in very truth, Jean; else how is it that she stands the 
journey as she does? A little wearied she may be when we 

[158] 



STARTING THE GREAT ADVENTURE 

stop for rest, but do you note that she starts onward as blithely 
and gayly as though we had but just set forth?" 

"Ay! I have noticed it. 'Tis as though she received manna 
from Heaven for her recuperation. Through many wild 
marches I have been, yet this one hath been the most trying. 
I fear ambuscades, Bertrand, and I would not have harm come 
to the Maid. I would rather lose life itself than have aught 
befall her." 

"And I, Jean. But I fear that all of our company do not 
agree with us. I overheard some words that Richard the 
Archer had with our two varlets this morning which shows 
their mind in manner most alarming. They also have noted 
the marvellous way in which the Maid has withstood the fatigues 
of the journey, and they declare that a mere maiden could not 
bear them as she does. In truth, they deem her a witch. We 
must be on our guard against them lest they try some trick 
against her." 

"The vile caitiffs! Can they not see that she is one of 
God's saints?" exclaimed De Metz wrathfully. "I will go to 
them. I—" 

"Nay, Jean; restrain yourself," counselled the older man 
laying his hand lightly on the other's arm. "Be not too severe 
in your judgment 'gainst the varlets. Time was, and not so 
long since, when we too were in doubt concerning the maiden. 
They may intend no harm, but I deemed it the part of wisdom 
to put you on guard. Let us say nothing, but watch and wait." 

"You are right, Bertrand." De Metz spoke more quietly. 
"They may intend no harm, but 'tis well to be on guard. If 

[159] 



JOAN OF ARC 

they should attempt anything — " He paused, touching his 
sword significantly. 

Poulengy nodded, and the two returned to the camp. As 
they made night marches they rested by day. For this day 
they had selected for camp a cove that lay between two shoul- 
ders of the winding hills on the banks of a swollen stream. 
Though a cold rain was falling there was no fire for fear of 
the enemy. The leafless boughs did little to ward off the rain, 
and there was not much comfort in the chill woods, so the party 
ate in silence the cold bread and meat which De Metz had ob- 
tained in the town. They but waited for the darkness that they 
might take to horse again. Richard the bowman was sentinel, 
and after the comfortless meal they all lay down on the wet 
ground to get what rest they could. They were aroused by a 
wild shout from the Archer, who rushed among them, crying: 

"The English! The English are upon us!" 

Instantly the two knights and the King's messenger were 
upon their feet, and drawing their swords, threw themselves 
quickly before Jeanne. She alone was undisturbed, and 
merely rose to a sitting posture as the men breathlessly awaited 
the approach of the enemy. The knights' servants, Jean de 
Honecourt and Julien, made as though about to flee when 
Jeanne spoke in her grave, sweet voice: 

"Do not flee. I tell you in God's name, they will not harm 
you." 

At this Richard the bowman, seeing that she was not afraid, 
burst out laughing. With a bound Jean de Metz had reached 
him, and had him by the throat. 

"Varlet," he cried, shaking the fellow angrily. "Know you 

[160] 



STARTING THE GREAT ADVENTURE 

not that there are perils enough about us without giving a false 
alarm? That loud outcry of yours may bring the enemy upon 
us. I am minded to fling you into that water." 

"I but did it to scare the witch," muttered Richard sullenly, 
eyeing the swollen stream with whitening face. The water 
was dismally cold, and very deep at this point. "I meant no 
harm." 

But De Metz, enraged by the word "witch," lifted him 
bodily, preparatory to carrying out his threat, when Jeanne's 
soft tones arrested him: 

"Do not so, my friend," she said sweetly. "The jest was 
ill timed, 'tis true; but still it was but a jest. He could neither 
frighten nor harm me. None can do that until I have fulfilled 
my mission. Let him go." 

"You hear?" De Metz let the man slide slowly to his feet. 
"But that she pleads for thee thou shouldst drink deep of that 
water. See to it that thy acts are better, else it shall go hard 
with thee. Ay! or whoever attempts tricks, be they jest or 
earnest." 

He glared at the retainers so fiercely that they shrank from 
his gaze. There was no further attempt to frighten the maiden 
during the rest of the journey, and it was noted that she had 
no more devoted servitor than Richard the bowman. 

On they rode, and still on. Through gloomy woods, by 
threatened highways, and over swollen rivers the seven made 
their way. The enemy's country was passed in time without 
mishap of any kind, and then on the morning of the tenth day 
out from Vaucouleurs they came to Gien on the River Loire. 
It held for the Dauphin, and Jeanne rejoiced for now, being 

[161] 



JOAN OF ARC 

in friendly territory, she could go to mass. She had felt neither 
fear nor anxiety during the march, but she had been distressed 
that she could not attend mass, which she was accustomed to 
doing every day. Being on God's errand she wished con- 
stantly to ask His help. 

"If we could, we should do well to hear mass," she had re- 
peated wistfully each day; but when the knights told her that 
it was too dangerous she had not insisted. 

Gien was about forty miles above Orleans, and their danger 
was now almost over. Both Jeanne and the knights talked 
freely of her errand, and the news spread far and wide that a 
Maid was come from the borders of Lorraine to raise the siege 
of Orleans and lead the Dauphin to Reims to be crowned. 
Everywhere the people were excited over the tidings. In spite 
of the blockade men often slipped into Orleans, and messengers 
from Gien soon bore the story into the besieged city. It raised 
a great hope there, and its commander, the Count of Dunois, at 
once sent two of his officers to Chinon, whither he knew that the 
Maid was bound, to ask the King to send her to them soon. 

The news that Jeanne learned concerning Orleans was most 
disquieting. The Battle of Herrings, fought at Rouvray, had 
been a most disastrous defeat for the garrison, and had brought 
both citizens and soldiers to despair. No time should be lost in 
going to the help of the leaguered city, so, after a short rest, 
Jeanne rode forward across the sandy Sologne and the flat 
country of Touraine. 

The anxiety of Poulengy and Metz had taken a different 
turn. Believe in the maiden as they might they could not but 
wonder what reception they would meet at Court. Charles 

[162] 



STARTING THE GREAT ADVENTURE 

and his counsellors might think it all a fool's errand, and the 
knights would be the laughing stock of their comrades. As 
they had become accustomed to doing they told these misgivings 
to Jeanne. 

"Do not be afraid. You will see how graciously the fair 
Dauphin will look upon us when we get to Chinon," she assured 
them confidently. 

They were now in a country holding for the Dauphin, and 
naturally it would be supposed that it was friendly territory; 
this, however, was not the case. Indeed, it was after the pas- 
sage of the Loire that they were exposed to the greatest danger. 
Ear and wide the tidings had flown that a girl was coming to- 
ward the King with wonderful proffers of aid from Heaven and 
the Holy Saints. There were people about the King to whom 
such news was not welcome. Here also in the King's country 
were freebooters who, when they pillaged travellers, asked not 
whether they were Armagnacs or Burgundians, and such men 
would not scruple to waylay the girl at a word from those about 
the King. So it happened that certain men-at-arms of the 
Erench party lay in ambush awaiting the appearance of 
Jeanne's little company to surprise them. It was the intention 
to capture the maiden, cast her into a pit, and keep her there 
under a great stone trap door, in the hope that the King who 
had sent for her would give a large sum for her rescue. But 
of all this neither Jeanne nor her escort knew until long after- 
ward. 

Being in the Dauphin's territory Jeanne rode fearlessly in 
front of the little company while the knights, who lacked her 
confidence, followed close behind, keeping a keen watch the 

[163] 



JOAN OF ARC 

while, for they were passing through a deep wood, and both 
Bertrand and De Metz were aware of the character of the mis- 
creants who infested it. Suddenly, from out of the inner 
wood, there burst a party of men who with wild yells dashed 
forward and surrounded them. There was a clash of steel as 
the knights met the onset, when high above the noise of swords 
sounded Jeanne's voice, clear and bell-like : 

"Hold! Let not French blood be spilled by Frenchmen 
while the English wait us at Orleans. Forbear, friends ! 'Tis 
not God's will that you should slay each other." 

Involuntarily the men of both parties stayed their uplifted 
hands. The leader of the attacking band bent a searching, 
curious glance upon the maiden, which she met calmly and tran- 
quilly. There was something winning and persuasive and con- 
vincing in her manner ; something so pure and unearthly in her 
look that presently the man's eyes dropped, and he hastily 
crossed himself. 

"Pass on," he said, and at a sign his fellows fell back, and 
the seven rode on in safety. 

Sire Bertrand leaned over to Jean de Metz and spoke in an 
awed tone: 

"Saw you that, Jean? Those rascals could do naught after 
she cried out. Truly the child is sent from God." 

"She is in very truth, Bertrand, but it needed not this to 
prove it. Witness how we have come these many leagues 
though threatened with dire perils without hap of any kind. 
'Tis nothing short of miraculous." 

But Jeanne heard them wondering, and smiled at them. 

[164] 



STARTING THE GREAT ADVENTURE 

"Marvel not," she said. "God clears the way for me. I 
was born for this." 

And so they came to the green slopes of Fierbois, from which 
place they would proceed to Chinon, where the King lay. 



1 165 ] 




CHAPTER XVI 

Jeanne Comes to Her King 

"Be not dismayed, for succor is at hand: 
A holy maid hither with me I bring, 
Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven, 
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege, 
And drive the English forth the bounds of France." 
Shakespeare. Henry Sixth, First Part. 

THE King lay at Chinon, just six leagues from Fierbois, 
and Jeanne decided to write to him, asking permission 
to come to the town, for neither of the knights dared go 
further without his consent. Accordingly Sire Bertrand pro- 
cured a scribe, and the maiden dictated the following letter: 
"Gentle Dauphin, — I have ridden a hundred and fifty 
leagues to bring you aid from Messire, the King of Heaven. 
I have much good news for you, and would beg that out of your 
grace you will allow me to tell it to you in person. Though I 
have never seen you, yet I should know you in any disguise 
among a thousand. May God give you long life. 

"Jeanne the Maid." 

[166 1 



JEANNE COMES TO HER KING 

Colet de Vienne, the King's messenger, took the missive, and 
at once set forth at speed for Chinon. A day at least must pass 
before the answer could come back, so Jeanne availed herself of 
the privilege of hearing mass in the village church dedicated to 
Saint Catherine, one of her daily visitors. 

It was the most famous sanctuary of the Saint, for here she 
received multitudes of pilgrims and worked great miracles. 
Her worship was warlike and national, and dated back to the 
beginning of French history. Jeanne lingered lovingly in the 
chapel, hearing three masses, and listening with delight to the 
stories of the miracles. 

The next day, having received permission to proceed to 
Chinon, they mounted and faced toward the town, and the 
maiden's heart beat fast. She was going to the King at last. 
That which she had dreamed for four years was being realized. 
She was going to the King, and her heart sang for joy. 

The nearer the company drew to Chinon they saw with 
amazement that the country became poorer, for the Court and 
the men-at-arms had stripped it bare. For this reason the 
Dauphin could seldom abide long at one place, for he was so 
much better known than trusted that the very cord-wainer 
would not let him march off in a new pair of boots without 
seeing his money. There was a song which said that he even 
greased his old clouted shoon to make them last as long as he 
might. There were many stories told about his extravagance 
and consequent poverty. It was a poor prince to whom Jeanne 
was going. 

It had been a long journey, as De Poulengy had said it 
would be, so that it was the eleventh day after leaving Vau- 

[ 167] 



JOAN OF ARC 

couleurs that they entered Chinon. It was March sixth, the 
fourth Sunday in Lent, and therefore Laetare Sunday. In 
far off Domremy the boys and the girls, the youths and the 
maidens would be going to the Fairy Tree and the Gooseberry 
Spring for the "Well Dressing." They would eat their hard 
boiled eggs with the rolls their mothers had kneaded. Pierre 
would go and possibly Jean, though he was older than she. 
The country would be grey and leafless there ; here there were 
already monitions of Spring. So Jeanne mused, but she did 
not let her thoughts wander long to her far off home and 
friends, for she was at last in Chinon, where the Dauphin 
abode. 

The town was built upon a meadow beside the river Vienne, 
and was compactly walled. Behind it rose a high perpen- 
dicular ledge on which the castle stood, the finest in the realm 
of France. Behind its proud walls there breathed that King 
to whom she had been impelled to come by a miraculous love. 
Jeanne looked up at it with longing glance, but she must wait 
until permission was accorded before ascending the steeps 
which led to it, so, with a sigh, she turned her attention to the 
town. 

Through narrow lanes of overhanging houses crowded to the 
hill beneath the castle buttresses they went, stopping at length 
at an inn near the castle kept by a woman of good repute. It 
was Lent, so the spits were idle, for at that time no one in 
Christendom neglected the church's injunction concerning the 
fasts and abstinences of Holy Lent. So fasting Jeanne re- 
tired to the chamber assigned her, and spent the next two days 
in prayer while she waited to hear from the Dauphin. 

[168] 



JEANNE COMES TO HER KING 

Then the messenger, Colet de Vienne, came with the com- 
mand that the two knights should come to the castle so that 
they might be questioned concerning the maiden. He said 
that the King had read the letter of Sire Robert, but would 
know more before admitting her to audience. Sire Bertrand 
heard the command with anger. 

"Colet, is this in truth the King's desire, or hath he been in- 
fluenced to it by George la Tremouille? There be those who 
say that the Favorite cares for naught that is for the good of 
France, but is all for terms with Burgundy." 

" 'Tis not for me to say that Charles is not master of his 
Court, Sire Bertrand," replied the messenger warily. "Still, 
it might be admitted that La Tremouille does not care to have 
an inspired Maid appear who will arouse the King from his 
indolence. And the King hath other advisers of the Royal 
Council also who wish to know more of the damsel before she 
approaches him. 'Tis on their advice that he has sent for 
you." 

"But he hath the letter vouching for her from the Captain 
of Vaucouleurs," exclaimed De Poulengy, with heat. "There 
will be delay, and yonder lies Orleans waiting the coming of 
the Maid; for by my faith! I do believe that she can raise the 
siege. Ay ! and Jean here believes likewise. 'Tis our opinion 
that she hath been divinely commissioned so to do." 

"Then why fret about telling the King what ye believe?" 
asked Colet. "He questioned me, and I spoke freely concern- 
ing her goodness, and the safety with which we had made the 
journey." 

"You are right," uttered De Poulengy. "Why fret indeed? 

[169] 



JOAN OF ARC 

'Tis only because it seems to me that were I King I would seize 
upon anything that held a hope for so distressed a kingdom." 

" 'Tis what frets us all, Bertrand," said Jean de Metz. 
"That is, all who care for the King and France. 'Know you 
not that La Hire, the fiercest soldier of the Armagnacs, says, 
'Never was a king who lost his kingdom so gay as Charles?' 
But lead on, Colet. 'Tis the King's command, and we must go 
to him. Perchance good may come from it after all." 

"That it may. And know for your comfort, both, that depu- 
ties from Orleans, having heard of the Maid, are here in Chinon 
praying that the King may not refuse the aid, but will send the 
Maid to them at once." 

"Now that is good," ejaculated Sire Bertrand. "I can go 
with better grace now. Come, Jean." 

Seldom has a king lived who deserved greater contempt than 
Charles Seventh. Lazy, idle, luxurious, and cowardly, he 
was the puppet of his worst courtiers. Most of the money that 
he could raise was spent in voluptuous living or given to fa- 
vorites. But at that time however contemptible a king might 
be, his personality was important to his kingdom. So that 
Charles Seventh was France to his people; the image and 
sacred symbol of France. 

In his favor it may be said that he was very devout, and his 
piety was sincere. He was generous to others, — and to him- 
self. He was "well languaged and full of pity for the poor." 
From time to time he would seem to be moved by the thought 
that, despite his helplessness and inability to do anything, he 
was still the man who ought to do all. But he was weak, a 
slave to his favorites, blind to their defects; ready to suffer 

[170] 



JEANNE COMES TO HER KING 

anything from them. It was small wonder then that De 
Poulengy dreaded the King's advisers. He and De Metz 
returned soon to the inn to report to Jeanne the result of the 

interview. 

" 'Tis pity that the King is not the only person who gov- 
erns the realm," spoke Sire Bertrand with disgusted weariness. 
"But no! the whole Royal Council must give consent ere he 
can admit you to an audience, Pucelle. There are certain of 
the counsellors who advise against seeing you, declaring that 
your mission is a hoax. Some say that you are a witch, and for 
Charles to receive a witch into his presence would endanger his 
person, and greatly discredit his majesty. There are still oth- 
ers who favor seeing you; and Yolande, Queen of Sicily and 
the king's mother-in-law, declares openly that since Sire Robert 
sent letters introducing you, which you carried through many 
leagues of hostile provinces, fording many rivers, in manner 
most marvellous so that you might come to him, the r King ought 
at least to hear you. By my faith, Yolande is the best adviser 
and the best soldier that the King has. So there the matter 
rests; but he ought to see you." 

"Which he will, messire. Have no doubt of that. He will 
hear and see me soon." 

"Yes; in time, Pucelle. But ere that time comes certain 
priests and clerks, experts in discerning good spirits from bad, 
are to examine you. They follow us, do they not, Jean?" 

De Metz nodded. "If I mistake not they come now," he 

said. 

"In God's name, why do they not set me about my work?" 

exclaimed Jeanne impatiently. 

[171] 



JOAN OF ARC 

Almost immediately steps were heard without the chamber, 
and the hostess of the inn entered, bowing low before several 
imposing ecclesiastics and their clerks. 

Jeanne rose, and courtesied; standing in reverent attitude 
during the entire interview. The visitors showed their aston- 
ishment plainly in finding that the renowned Maid of Vaucou- 
leurs was such a mere girl. The senior bishop acted as spokes- 
man for all. 

"Are you the maid concerning whom letters have come to 
the King from Vaucouleurs ?" 

Jeanne bowed her head in assent. 

"And you in truth made that long perilous journey to speak 
with the King?" 

"Yes, messire." 

"You seem o'er young for such a fatiguing march. You 
are, I should judge, not over sixteen?" 

"Seventeen, messire." 

"Have you, as 'tis said, a message for the King?" 

"Yes, messire," returned the maiden briefly. 

"Tell it to us. We in turn will bear it to the King." 

Jeanne drew herself up at this, and stood regarding them 
calmly. 

"I cannot, messire," she said at length. "It is for the gentle 
Dauphin alone to hear. To him, and to none other, will I 
tell it." 

"Maiden," said the senior bishop earnestly, "the King hath 
many counsellors who are wise and learned men. It is their 
opinion that he ought not to see you until he learns the nature 
of your mission. If you in truth have aught that is good for 

[172] 



JEANNE COMES TO HER KING 

him to hear, it were best to tell it us. That is, if you desire ad- 
mission to his presence." 

"Is not the Dauphin master of his presence? Is it not his to 
say who shall, or who shall not be admitted to him?" demanded 
the maiden in such open eyed wonder that the prelate looked 
confused. 

"Certainly," he said hastily. "But he sends certain of his 
friends to see if those who seek admission are worthy to enter 
his presence. Be advised, my child, and tell us why you wish 
to see him." 

For a long moment Jeanne stood looking at him as though 
she saw him not; then suddenly her face became transfigured 
with joy, for the Light shone beside her, and she bowed her 
head. The Voice that she waited for came instantly: 

"Tell of thy mission, Daughter of God," it said. "But of 
that which concerns the Dauphin speak not. Rise, and answer 
boldly. We will aid thee." 

The maiden raised her head, and said gently : 

"I have leave from 'My Voices/ messire, to tell you that I 
have two commands laid upon me by the King of Heaven. 
One, to raise the siege of Orleans ; the other, to lead the Dauphin 
to Reims that he may be crowned and anointed there." 

The bishops heard her with amazement. They had not seen 
the Light, nor heard the Voice, but they saw that the maiden 
had received a communication of some kind, either from in- 
ward communion, or some celestial visitor. The senior bishop's 
tones showed his wonder. 

"Those are marvellous commands, my child. What sign can 
you give us that you can perform them?" 

[173] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"I have not come to give signs," cried Jeanne, her impa- 
tience flaring forth at this. "Give me men-at-arms, and let 
me show the work I am appointed to do." 

"Then will you relate how the commands were given to 
you?" questioned the bishop. 

Briefly, because Jeanne never liked to talk much of her 
visions, the maiden told something concerning the matter. The 
whole of it she did not tell. Then followed questions pertain- 
ing to her manner of life, her devotion, her habits about taking 
the sacraments of communion and confession, and so on. To 
all of these she made answer freely, with such modest mien that 
the ecclesiastics finally withdrew, charmed by her simplicity and 
earnestness. 

And now the delay was ended ; for, as evening fell, there came 
the Count de Vendome, a gracious nobleman richly attired, to 
escort her to the King. De Poulengy and De Metz rejoiced 
that there would be no further delay. Being personal attend- 
ants of Jeanne's they were to accompany her to the castle. 
Count de Vendome eyed the simple page attire of the maiden 
soberly. She was clad like the varlet of some lord of no great 
estate, in black cap with a little silver brooch, a grey doublet, 
and black and grey hose, trussed up with many points; the 
sword that Robert de Baudricourt had given her hung by her 
side. At first sight she might well have passed for a boy, she 
was so slender and carried herself so erectly. There was ad- 
miration in the nobleman's glance as he surveyed her gracious 
figure, but his words were grave : 

"Will you attend the audience in that garb, Pucelle?" he 
asked. 

[174] 



JEANNE COMES TO HER KING 

And Jeanne, remembering how De Metz with a like ex- 
pression of countenance had asked a similar question when she 
wore her woman's dress, laughed cheerily. 

"This and none other, messire. For in this garb shall I do 
that which is commanded." 

So led by the nobleman and followed by the two knights the 
maiden started for the castle. Up a broad winding path they 
wended their way to the rocky ridge of hill along which the 
great walls of the castle, interrupted and strengthened by huge 
towers, stretched. It was old and great and strong, having 
been builded when the Romans were lords of the land, and was 
a favorite seat of English kings before it passed into the hands 
of the French. From the high drawbridge above the moat, 
which was twenty feet deep, there was a wide prospect over the 
town and the valley of the Vienne. Soldiers idled and diced 
just within the gate, though the dice were scarce discernible 
in the fast falling darkness. They ceased the play as Jeanne 
and her attendants came upon the drawbridge, and a murmur 
ran from lip to lip, for by this time all in Chinon knew of her. 

"La Pucelle! La Pucelle! The inspired Maid from Vau- 
couleurs comes to see the King." 

At this soldiers and sentinels turned to gaze curiously at the 
girl. Suddenly one started from among his fellows, and came 
very close to her, peering impudently into her face. 

"By all the saints, 'tis a pretty wench!" he cried. "May 
God send more such witches to Chinon. I — " 

But angrily Jean de Metz swept him out of the way. 

"Jarnedieu!" cried the soldier wrathfully, using the common 
oath of his class. 

[175] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Oh, dost thou jarnedieu?" cried Jeanne mournfully. 
"Thou who art so near death?" 

Like one turned to stone the man stood, and then, as some 
of his comrades began to gibe at him, he came to himself and 
turned upon them in a rage. 

"Think you that I heed what a mad woman says?" he shouted. 
"Nay; I defy her and her prophecies." With this he uttered a 
loud laugh, and leaned back heavily against the low wooden 
pales of the bridge's side, which were crazy and old. There 
was a crash; and down and down he whirled. The deep waters 
of the moat closed over him. 

The soldiers looked grave and affrighted, and turned awed 
looks upon the maiden and her companions, who were just 
ascending the broad steps which gave entrance to the great hall 
of the King's chateau, where the audience was to be held. 
Jeanne, being ahead with the Count de Vendome, had not seen 
what had occurred, but she turned as the crash of the wooden 
pales sounded. 

"What hath happened?" she questioned. 

"Naught," cried De Metz hastily, fearing that should he tell 
her it would disturb her calm, and he was timorous concerning 
the ordeal before the Maid. "The King should keep his bridge 
in better repair, for but now some of its wooden palings snapped 
in two." 

So without knowing that her prophecy had been fulfilled so 
soon the maiden passed on into the great hall. The audience 
chamber was crowded with curious courtiers and the royal 
guard, and the place shone with the lustre of fifty flambeaux. 
At the end of the vaulted room was a chimney of white stone 

[176] 



JEANNE COMES TO HER KING 

in which a noble fire blazed, reflected by the polished oak boards 
of the floor. 

Veteran soldiers of the wars were there; counsellors, like the 
favorite La Tremouille, prelates, like the Archbishop of Reims, 
and trains of fair ladies with fine raiment and gay manners ; all 
gathered to see the sorceress. A throng of men and women in 
velvet and cloth of gold, in crimson and azure such as she had 
never seen. A brilliant mob of vivid colors ; a company of the 
noblest lords and ladies of France, their finery glowing in the 
flaring flames of many torches. The fans of the ladies flut- 
tered; their high head-dresses, or hennins, towered above the 
head coverings of the men; a thousand unfamiliar hues and 
forms combined to dazzle the eyes and disturb the composure of 
a peasant girl. 

But Jeanne was neither disturbed nor dazzled. Eagerly 
she looked to see the King. She did not care for the courtiers 
gazing so intently at her — some with amusement, some smiling, 
some sneering, the most of them sceptical, but all of them gaz- 
ing at her with open curiosity ; with surprise at her page's attire, 
her man-at-arms shoes, and above all at her hair which, cut 
round like a page's, flowed softly about her face. At this time 
no woman, of whatever rank, showed the hair. It was worn 
covered always in obedience to Saint Paul's command. Jeanne 
saw the amusement, and wonder, and scepticism on the faces 
around her; saw but heeded them not; moving forward the 
while with her eyes fixed ever on the figure seated on the 
throne. Suddenly she stopped short with a stifled exclama- 
tion. The Count de Vendome touched her arm gently. 

"Kneel," he whispered. "The King is before you." 

[177] 



JOAN OF ARC 

But Jeanne did not respond. She looked at him who was 
seated upon the throne, but made no obeisance. Instead she 
knitted her brows in thoughtful manner, then turned deliber- 
ately round and glanced searchingly about among the courtiers. 
A low murmur of astonishment ran through the room as all at 
once she moved quickly toward a group of courtiers, and push- 
ing them aside knelt before a soberly clad young man hiding 
behind them. 

"God give you good life, gentle Dauphin," she said. 

"But it is not I that am the King," said he with smiling lips. 
"Yonder he sits upon the throne." 

"In God's name, gentle Dauphin, say not so," she said. "It 
is you and no other." Then rising from her knees she con- 
tinued: "Fair Dauphin, I am Jeanne the Maid. I am sent 
to you by the King of Heaven to tell you that you shall be 
anointed and crowned at Reims, and shall be lieutenant of 
the King of Heaven, who is King of France." 

Charles's face grew grave as he heard the words. The little 
masquerade planned for the amusement of the courtiers had 
failed ; the jest was over. .Solemnly he spoke : 

"How know you this, Maid?" 

"My Voices have told me. I have come to lead you to your 
anointing, but first I must raise the siege of Orleans. This, 
fair Dauphin, I can do if you will but give me men-at-arms. 
Out of your grace, I beg you to send me at once to Orleans." 

Touched by her perfect sincerity, her intense earnestness, her 
good faith, the King gazed musingly at her, and then asked : 

"How shall I know that you can do this, Maid? What sign 
can you give?" 

[178] 



JEANNE COMES TO HER KING 

"My sign shall be the raising of the siege of Orleans; but, 
gentle Dauphin, I have another sign which is to be told to you 

alone." 

"Then tell it to me," he said, drawing her into a window re- 
cess out of ear shot of the courtiers. 

"Gentle Dauphin, when you prayed this morning in your 
oratory there was a great pain in your heart." 

"True;" nodded Charles. 

"And you made a prayer there. Fair Dauphin, did you tell 
to any one the prayer that you made?" 

"No," he answered gravely. "I did not. 'Tis a prayer that 
concerns none but myself." 

Then quickly, earnestly, passionately, Jeanne spoke, ad- 
dressing him familiarly as an inspired prophetess: 

"Did you not pray that if you were the true heir of France, 
and that if justly the kingdom were yours, that God might be 
pleased to guard and defend you? But that if you were not 
descended from the royal House of France God would grant 
you escape from imprisonment or death by permitting you to 
go into the land of Scotland or Spain, that you might find 
refuge there?" 

Charles's face grew blank with amazement. 

"I did pray that, exactly," he admitted. "In my heart alone, 
without pronouncing the words. Speak on, Maiden. Is there 
aught from your heavenly visitors that would answer that 

prayer?" 

"There is, gentle Dauphin. Know then, to ease thy heart, 
that I tell thee from Messire, that thou art the true heir of 
France, and son of the King." 

[179] 



JOAN OF ARC 

She made the strange statement so authoritatively, so im- 
pressively that the monarch's countenance grew radiant. 
Those watching the pair wondered at the change, but none knew 
until long afterward what it was that the maiden had told 
him. Now he took Jeanne's hand and bowed over it. 

"I believe in you, Maid," he said. "Though all should doubt 
yet do I believe. You shall have your men-at-arms, and go 
to Orleans." 

"Now God be praised," exclaimed the maiden joyfully. 
"May he send you long life, oh fair and gentle Dauphin. 
Give me the men soon, I pray you, that I may be about my 
work." 

"You shall have your wish," he said gently; and with this he 
led her back to the gaping courtiers. 



[180] 




CHAPTER XVII 



The Impossible Happens 

"To pray, we do not say with the lips, but to pray with 
the whole sincerity of the heart, is to win an inexhaustible 
source of moral strength. This we say simply from the 
point of view of a man of science who only concerns him- 
self with the effects of a fact, and only considers truths 
of observation and experience." 

M. Simeon Luce. "Jeanne d'Arc a Domremy." 

THE next day, as Jeanne sat with the two knights dis- 
cussing the audience of the evening before, here came 
the Sire de Gaucourt, former commander of Orleans. 
"Pucelle," he said, bowing low before the Maid, "I come 
to you by order of the King, whose desire it is that you should 
leave this mean place and come to dwell in the Tower of 
Coudray, which is more proper lodging for you, and nearer to 
him. The friends who are with you shall accompany you, if 
such be your desire." 

"It is in truth my desire," spoke the maiden quickly with 
an affectionate glance at Poulengy and Metz. "True and 

[181] 



JOAN OF ARC 

faithful friends have they proven themselves. Without their 
aid I could not have come to the King. They believed in me 
even before Sire Robert did. And they shall go with me to 
Orleans, if they wish." 

"We do wish," came from the knights simultaneously. "To 
Orleans, or to any place that promises fighting for France." 

"Would that we were now bound for Orleans," sighed 
Jeanne as the four set forth for the castle. 

Up the steep approach to the castle they wended their way 
once more. And now, being daylight, it was seen that the 
long mass of embattled walls, of keeps, towers, turrets, curtains, 
ramparts, and watch-towers were three castles separated one 
from the other by dyke, barrier, postern, and portcullis. Ar- 
riving on the ridge of hill Sire de Gaucourt led them past the 
long line of machicolated battlements of the Middle Chateau 
where the King dwelt, and across the bridge of the inner moat. 
A curtain of stone connected a high tower on the moat bank 
with another battlemented tower built into the buttressed cliff 
wall. There was an archway in the curtain at the end of the 
bridge, through which they passed to the Tower of Coudray. 

Ascending a stairway they paused at its top, for here the 
lieutenant of the tower, Guillaume Bellier, the King's Major 
Domo, waited to greet them. 

"You are to lodge with my own family, Pucelle," he said, 
making Jeanne a deep obeisance. "My wife comes now to 
bear you to your chamber for rest and refreshment." 

As he spoke a pleasant faced woman came forward from an 
adjoining room, and greeted the maiden warmly. She showed 
plainly her surprise at Jeanne's attire, but seemed charmed by 

[ 182 ] 



THE IMPOSSIBLE HAPPENS 

her youth and beauty. Sire Bertrand gave a sigh of satisfac- 
tion as he saw the maiden depart in the lady's company, and 
remarked to De Metz in a low tone : 

"Glad am I to see the Maid in such good hands as those of 
Madame Bellier. She is a devout woman, and the two will take 
much pleasure in each other's company. It hath gone to my 
heart to see such a mere girl without any of her own sex near 
her." 

"Yes; but she hath angel visitors to bring her comfort and 
solace, Bertrand, the like of which no other maid had ever 
before. I believe her in very truth to be a messenger from the 
blessed Saints that love France. Still, with you, I am glad 
that Madame Bellier hath her in her care." 

Jeanne's chambers were in the upper story of the tower, and 
Lieutenant Bellier sent her for a servant one of his own pages, 
Louis de Coutes, sometimes called Mugot, who came from an 
old warrior family which had been in service of the house of 
Orleans for a century. Her two knights with their servants 
had chambers just beneath hers. 

And now that the King had taken her under his charge 
people flocked to see her. Churchmen came to test her ortho- 
doxy; Captains to ask her about her knowledge of war; and all 
the lords and ladies to question her concerning her mission, for 
it was dull at Chinon, and a witch was worth looking at any day. 
Jeanne was impatient to be about her work, but she answered 
them all so aptly, and was so gentle and simple, that all who 
met her grew to believe in her. 

Many too were curious concerning the oak wood, asking if 
the Bois Chesnu were not in her country, for every one now 

[183] 



JOAN OF ARC 

recalled Merlin's prophecy, and was impressed by it. Every 
day the King had her brought to him. He was weak and 
timorous, but her simple faith impressed him, as it impressed 
all who saw her, and her entire trust in him gave him some 
courage and self-reliance. He wished to give the Maid men- 
at-arms at once, as he had promised, but the Royal Council 
over-ruled him. The Counsellors acknowledged that it was 
not unusual for princes to have the counsel of devout women; 
that women in whom was the voice of God were not to be 
scorned; that even the kings of England were no less ready 
than the kings of France to heed the words of saintly men and 
women ; still, it behooved him to proceed carefully in the matter, 
lest he should be charged with helping himself by witchcraft. 

In the Middle Ages it was the custom for saints to speak with 
kings and for kings to listen to them, but sorcery was the unpar- 
donable sin. Therefore, it was the opinion of the Royal Council 
that, before giving the maiden the men-at-arms for which she 
asked, she should be subjected to a more searching examination 
than any that had yet been made. And while the talk waged 
pro and con the fame of Jeanne grew and filled all mouths. She 
fired the zeal of the captains who came to see her, and shamed 
them into some hope of saving France ; she charmed the ladies of 
the Court by her modesty ; while the common people told won- 
derful stories of her piety, exploits and adventures. To bring 
this about in the short time that she had been in Chinon was no 
mean achievement for a girl of seventeen, but Jeanne, believing 
God to be the author of the whole work, wondered only that 
any one should hesitate for a moment to trust His messenger. 

One day she attended mass in the royal chapel, as was her 

[184] 



THE IMPOSSIBLE HAPPENS 

daily custom, and when her devotions were finished she rose to 
find the King and a young nobleman standing beside her. 
Jeanne courtesied to the monarch, whereupon he said: 

"We have brought our cousin, the Duke of Alencon, to see 
you, Jeanne. He hath great interest in the house of Orleans, 
having married the daughter of Duke Charles." 

"He is welcome," spoke Jeanne simply. "The more of the 
blood royal there are here the better." 

"So we believe," said the King, smiling. "It is our pleasure 
that you dine with us to-day, that our cousin may learn more of 
your mission." 

Again Jeanne bowed low, charming Alencon by her courtly 
manners. Then she and the Duke followed the King to the 
dining hall. La Tremouille, the King's favorite, was present 
also. Barrel-like in appearance, a toper, and a usurer, loaning 
money to the King and the nobles at high interest, La Tre- 
mouille was a most important personage at Court. Dismissing 
the rest of the courtiers the King sat down at the table with the 
other three, the peasant maid not at all disturbed by being the 
guest of royalty. Yet but one short month agone she had 
been the guest of the humble Catherine le Royer, the wheel- 
wright's wife. 

But Jeanne did not think of this. Her thoughts were for 
the Dauphin, and she was filled with the desire that he should 
govern wisely and well the realm which he held in trust from 
God. So she talked seriously to him, asking him to amend his 
life, and live after God's will. He was to be clement, and to 
be a good lord to rich and poor, friend and enemy. If he 
would be all this the King of Heaven would do for him what 

[185] 



JOAN OF ARC 

he had done for his ancestors, and would restore him to his 
former estate. 

And gazing into the bright, eager young face, flushed with 
courage and glowing with celestial ardor the King was thrilled, 
and longed to do kingly deeds and to be worthy of the blood of 
Louis, his saintly ancestor. After the dinner the four went to 
the meadows by the river, where Jeanne guided her horse and 
wielded her lance with so much skill that both the King and 
the Duke marvelled. 

" 'Tis but an indifferent steed you ride, Pucelle," spoke 
Alencon, for Jeanne was still using the horse that De Baudri- 
court had bought for her. "I will send you another that shall 
bear you more worthily." 

The very next day he presented her with a magnificent black 
charger which Jeanne rode thereafter. It was the beginning 
of a warm friendship between the two. He became one of the 
maiden's most enthusiastic supporters, and Jeanne grew fond 
of him not only because he was son-in-law to the Duke of 
Orleans, but because the English had done him wrong, and he 
had a good will to fight. Jeanne measured men by that stand- 
ard. She had a wholesome, hearty contempt for men who 
skulked at Court and spent their time in idle pleasure while 
France lay under the heel of the invader. Alencon had but 
just returned to his home after being held captive by the 
English for three years. It was told of him that his captors 
had proposed to give him back his liberty and his goods if he 
would join their party, but he rejected the offer. He was 
young like her, and Jeanne thought that like her he must be 
sincere and noble. 

[186] 



THE IMPOSSIBLE HAPPENS 

In spite of her increasing influence over churchmen, and 
captains, and people, the King still wavered, influenced by the 
Royal Council and the favorite. La Tremouille, though indif- 
ferent to Jeanne, because he had not yet come to dread her 
power and to intrigue against her as he did a few months 
later, was disinclined to action, and had no intention of allow- 
ing Charles to shake off his indolence. So there were further 
delays while the King's confessor and others examined the 
maiden daily. Though she was aware that these men ques- 
tioned her by orders from the King, Jeanne did not talk freely, 
but answered discreetly concerning her mission. 

"In God's name, my fair duke, why do they ask so many 
questions instead of setting me about my work?" she asked 
piteously of Alencon one day after a visit from some of the 
bishops. 

"Perchance 'tis natural for them to doubt," replied the duke 
consolingly. "You will have to be patient, Jeanne, though 
there is much to try you in delay." 

"Patient, patient!" ejaculated Jeanne, who was eating her 
heart out with the desire to engage the enemy immediately at 
Orleans. 

"Can Orleans hold out forever? Why do they not take 
Messire's word as it comes to them? Daily do I pray to be 
delivered from these churchmen." 

Alencon laughed, but checked his mirth quickly at sight of 
the tears that were in Jeanne's eyes. 

"Endure a little longer, my friend," he said gently. "I be- 
lieve that the end of these many queries is in sight, though 
before it comes it has been decided to send you to Poictiers." 

[187] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"To Poictiers?" exclaimed Jeanne. "And why to Poic- 
tiers?" 

"The Royal Council think it best for you to be examined 
by the learned Doctors there," he explained. "They acknowl- 
edge that they can find no fault in you, but before giving you 
men-at-arms to go to Orleans they wish that the Church should 
pass upon your inspiration. When that is over I believe that 
there will be no further delay in sending you to Orleans." 

"What is the use in having learned men ask me questions 
when I know neither A nor B?" queried Jeanne, dashing 
the tears from her eyes. "But in God's name, let us be going, 
since we must go. Much ado will be there, I know. But 
my Lord will help me. Now let us go, my bonny duke, in 
God's strength." 

The very next day she set forth for Poictiers, attended by a 
large company, for many were eager to see how the peasant 
maid would acquit herself before the learned Doctors. Be- 
side Alencon and her own knights there were certain veteran 
men-at-arms among the company; men who laughed at the 
idea that a mere girl of seventeen could raise the siege of 
Orleans. There were many courtiers, some who believed in the 
maid, and others who welcomed the diversion. The Queen's 
mother, Yolande, who wished to see her daughter seated firmly 
upon the throne of France, and who believed in the simple shep- 
herd maid, went also. But her presence did not console 
Jeanne, who fretted because so much valuable time was being 
wasted. 

There were learned doctors at Poictiers, which was distant 
some fifty miles from Chinon. Men who, loyal to the King, 

[188] 



THE IMPOSSIBLE HAPPENS 

had left the University of Paris as soon as the capital had 
fallen into the hands of the English, and followed the fortunes 
of Charles, choosing this town for their abiding place, and later 
founding a university there. It was the home of the Bar also, 
the great legal center, and here, if anywhere in Charles's do- 
minions, it seemed probable that men might be found able to 
distinguish between good spirits and bad. 

On her arrival in the city Jeanne was lodged in the house of 
Maitre Jean Robateau, the attorney general, a man of wealth 
and distinction, married to an excellent wife. The house was 
near the law courts, and had built into it a little chapel where 
Jeanne went at once to pray. It proved a haven of refuge in 
the days that followed. 

The Archbishop of Reims presided over the Council which 
was soon held. The Council appointed a Committee of Investi- 
gation, and sent emissaries to Domremy to inquire into her 
previous history. The Committee included several professors 
of theology, an abbot, a canon of Poictiers, and one or two 
friars. Escorted by a squire this Committee went to interview 
Jeanne at Robateau's house, for she was not formally examined 
before the whole board of Doctors. She came to meet them 
as they entered, but the sight of the priests irritated her. She 
had been subjected to so much questioning at Chinon that she 
was weary of it. It seemed so needless and futile. For work- 
ing priests and for people in religion she held a sacred regard. 
For learned Doctors she had no use. 

The squire, a young man of the sword named Thibault, 
pleased her better than the priests, for he was in military dress. 
She acknowledged the presence of the Committee with an 

[189] 



JOAN OF ARC 

obeisance, then went quickly to the squire and clapped him on 
the shoulder, comrade fashion. 

"Would that I had many men of your way of thinking, 
friend," she said. 

"Maid," spoke the abbot gravely, "attend now to what we 
shall say. We are sent to you from the King." 

"I know quite well that you are sent to question me," spoke 
the maiden with spirit, "but of what avail is it? I know neither 
A nor B." 

At this the Committee began to ply her with questions. 

"Why have you come to Court?" asked the abbot. 

"I am come from the King of Heaven to raise the siege of 
Orleans, and to lead the Dauphin to Reims for his crowning 
and anointing," she made answer. 

"But what made you think of coming?" asked a professor of 
theology. 

"Because of the great pity there was in Heaven for the 
realm of France, my Voices told me to come, nothing doubt- 
ing," replied the maiden earnestly. 

"Your voices ? What voices ?" 

Jeanne saw that much as she disliked to talk of her visions, — 
it was always of her mission and her Voices that she told, — there 
was need of some explanation. The grave Doctors listened 
attentively while she told something of her revelations, but not 
all. She was a peasant maid, ignorant, simple, her hands 
hardened with toil, her way of life humble and obscure, yet as 
she related her ineffable experiences she seemed a thing divine. 

Having much food for thought they questioned her no more 
that day, and Jeanne retired to the chapel to seek comfort from 

[190] 



THE IMPOSSIBLE HAPPENS 

her saints, who all this time continued to visit her daily, yet 
giving only the one constantly repeated command. The next 
day the Committee returned. 

"You tell us," said a professor of theology, "that God wishes 
to free the people of France from their distress. If He wishes 
to free them there is no need for the soldiers you ask for." 

"In God's name," exclaimed Jeanne with some irritation, 
"the men-at-arms will fight, and God will give the victory." 

There was a stir among the learned men at this answer. The 
professor who had asked the question smiled as though well 
pleased, while the King's advocate murmured: 

"No clerk of the court could have answered better." 

After the little flurry had subsided, one Seguin, a Carmelite 
friar of learning and repute, next took his turn. He was a 
native of Limoges, and spoke the dialect of his district. 

"In what language, Pucelle, do these voices speak to you?" 

Now this query seemed frivolous to Jeanne. She knew no 
language but French, so what other could the Voices use? 

"In a better than yours," she flashed, and there followed a 
general laugh, for the patois of Limoges was a common subject 
of ridicule. 

"Do you believe in God?" continued the friar, nothing 
daunted by the mirth. 

"More firmly than you do," she replied seriously. 

"Then you must know, Pucelle, that God does not wish us 
to trust you without some sign that you can do what you say. 
Gideon, for a sign, laid a fleece of wool upon the floor, and in 
the morning there was dew upon it so that he could wring a bowl 
of water from it, while all about the floor was dry; and the 

[191] 



JOAN OF ARC 

second night the fleece was dry and the floor was wet. So 
Gideon showed to the children of Israel, and it was his sign 
that he was from the Lord. We can not advise the King to risk 
his soldiers just on the strength of your simple word. What 
is your sign, Pucelle?" 

"In God's name," cried Jeanne, now thoroughly worn out, "I 
did not come to show signs in Poictiers ; but lead me to Orleans 
with few or many men-at-arms, and I will show you the sign 
for which I am sent. Attend, and I will tell you also what is to 
happen in France : I will summon the English, and if they do 
not heed I will drive them from their siege. I will lead the 
Dauphin to his crowning and anointing at Reims; Paris will 
come into its allegiance to the rightful king, and the Due 
d'Orleans will return from his captivity ; so my Voices have told 
me. 

And of those who heard the words all lived to see the fulfill- 
ment of Jeanne's prophecies save only the maiden herself. 
During her life but the first two came to pass. 

"Why do you call the King the Dauphin, even as the foreign- 
ers do who deny him the right to the throne?" asked another. 

"Because he is not the King until he is anointed and crowned 
with the sacred oil," she answered. 

And so daily for three weeks the questioning continued. 
Beside this formal and official examination of her faith and 
character, private inquests of all kinds were made concerning 
her claims. She was visited by every curious person, man or 
woman, in the town or its vicinity, and plied with endless ques- 
tions, so that her simple personal story and that of her revela- 
tions became known to all the whole country round about. 

[ 192] 



THE IMPOSSIBLE HAPPENS 

The two Queens, Yolande and her daughter Marie, with their 
ladies, took her in hand, and subjected her to an inquiry more 
penetrating still than that of the graver tribunals. They in- 
quired into her history in every subtle feminine way, testing her 
innocence and purity. The women were especially interested 
about the male attire, and pressed this query. To the Queen's 
mother, Yolande, she told the reasons. 

"In the first place, your majesty," said the maiden simply, 
' 'tis the only dress for fighting, which, though far from my 
desires or from the habits of my life, is henceforth to be my 
work; this being the case, I am constrained to live among men- 
at-arms, and such dress is therefore more seemly." 

"True," said the Queen thoughtfully; then presently she 
nodded an emphatic approval. "You are quite right, child. I 
see it. Others shall see it too." 

"And too," spoke Jeanne, smiling at the Queen, "the habit 
matters nothing after all. I must wear it to do what I am 
commanded to do." 

Yolande went away charmed by the Maid, and reported the 
result not only to the waiting women, but also to the learned 
Council. "It was her belief," she said, "that the child was sent 
from God." 

And so said all the women. Jeanne had ever the women with 
her. So also said many of the members of the Council who 
were growing more and more to believe in the girl. There 
were men who were disgusted with the cowardice and treachery 
of La Tremouille, and not unwilling to fight for France; the 
energy of such men was aroused by Jeanne's enthusiasm. 
Meantime the friars who had been sent to Domremy to inves- 

[193] 



JOAN OF ARC 

tigate her former manner of living now returned to report that 
they had found no flaw in her character. At the end of the 
three weeks of daily examinations there came a day when 
Jeanne was summoned before the whole Board of Doctors to 
hear the judgment of the Council. The two faithful knights, 
Alencon, and other of her true friends went with her to give 
comfort should the verdict be adverse. But Jeanne was bright 
and smiling, never doubting for a moment that the result could 
be other than in her favor. The King and his adherents had 
come also, and Yolande, the Queen's mother, beside a great 
audience of the people of the town. 

After the formal opening, the Archbishop of Reims, who pre- 
sided over the Council, rose and read the judgment. 

"The case of the kingdom being desperate we, the members 
of the Council, believe that the King should not reject the Maid, 
nor should he lightly believe in her. But, in accordance with 
Holy Scripture, he ought to make trial of her by two ways, that 
is, first, by human wisdom, examining into her character, life, 
and intentions; and secondly, by devout prayer, asking a sign 
of some divine deed or ground of hope by which he may judge 
whether she is come by the will of God. 

"The Maid's character has been studied; inquiry has been 
made into her birth, past life and intentions; for she has been 
examined by clerks, churchmen, men of the sword, matrons and 
widows. Nothing has been found in her but honesty, sim- 
plicity, humility, maidenhood, and devotion. 

"After hearing all these reports, taking into consideration 
the great goodness of the Maid, and that she declares herself to 
be sent by God, it is therefore determined by this Council that 

L194.1 



THE IMPOSSIBLE HAPPENS 

from henceforward the King should make use of her for his 
wars, since it was for this she was sent. The King then, oucmt 
not to prevent her from going to Orleans to show the sign of 
heavenly succor, and it is the opinion of this Council that she 
may go with the army under honourable superintendence." 

There was dead silence as the Archbishop concluded the 
reading. Dead silence as the people grasped the full signifi- 
cance of the verdict. The incredible thing had happened. 
The peasant Maid had triumphed over the learned Doctors, 
even as her own Saint Catherine had triumphed. To the young 
girl, barely seventeen, was delivered the marvellous task of 
raising the siege of Orleans. 

Suddenly the silence was broken by a storm of applause. 
Charles rose from his seat and beckoned the maid to come to 
him. As she arose to obey the command, the Court and people 
rose and stood reverently as a mark of homage and respect. 
Charles himself, moved by knightly impulse to do a kingly deed, 
descended from the throne, and himself escorted her to the 
throne where all might see, then bent low over her hand as 
though she were the royal creature and he but the humble 
servitor. 

But Jeanne, the tears of gladness streaming from her eyes, 
fell upon her knees and kissed his hand fervently. For 
Charles to her was France ; France, represented, embodied, and 
made into a living thing — the France she was come to save. 



[195] 




CHAPTER XVIII 

The Warrior Maid 

"Her helm was raised, 
And the fair face revealed, that upward gazed, 
Intensely worshipping — A still, clear face, 
Youthful, but brightly solemn! — Woman's cheek 
And brow were there, in deep devotion meek, 
Yet glorified with inspiration's trace 
On its pure paleness; while enthroned above, 
The pictured virgin with her smile of love 
Seem'd bending o'er her votaress." 

Mrs. Hemans. 

A WAVE of enthusiasm swept over the land as the news 
of the verdict of the Doctors spread. Cowed 
France threw off her cowardice and rose to courage 
and activity. Men and arms were now forthcoming for the 
army that began to gather at Blois, which was the nearest city 
to Orleans that remained in Charles's hands. Alencon and 
other lords, Yolande, the Queen of Sicily, loyal cities like La 
Kochelle opened wide their coffers, and furnished money to 
finance the undertaking. An inspired Maid, a Virgin sent 
from God was to lead France to victory against the enemy. 
Because God had taken pity on the distressed kingdom the 

[196] 



THE WARRIOR MAID 

invader was to be expelled by His maiden messenger. Thus 
spoke the people, and men took heart of grace and prepared 
joyously to go to the succor of Orleans. 

Possession of this city was of the greatest importance to 
Charles ; for as it lay immediately between the provinces which 
had submitted to the English, and those which still acknowl- 
edged his authority, it served as a gathering point for his ad- 
herents, and a stronghold from whence they could with 
advantage sally out and annoy their enemies. Unless this 
place was taken the English could not with safety pursue the 
King into the southern part of the kingdom, and the success of 
his cause depended upon its possession. If it were lost, there 
was no resource left the monarch but flight. Thus upon the 
raising of the siege of the city depended the whole fate of 
France; its nationality, its very existence. 

A month must pass before the full number of men and suf- 
ficient provisions could be gathered for the expedition, but 
Jeanne knew the need of both and was no longer impatient. 
From Chinon the Dauphin sent her to Tours to be fitted with 
armour, whither she was accompanied by her knights. It was 
the most important city in that part of France, and no place 
excelled its smiths in the making of armour. Yolande, the 
Queen's mother, herself designed the armour for the warrior 
maiden, which was to be of steel inlaid with silver, burnished 
to a shining whiteness symbolic of the purity of the Holy En- 
terprise. 

By Charles's desire Jeanne was given a Household as be- 
came a person of her importance. She dwelt with Eleanor, 
wife of Jean du Puy, one of the Queen's ladies, and her imme- 

[197] 



JOAN OF ARC 

diate attendants consisted of Jean d'Aulon, a veteran from 
Orleans, who acted as her equerry, or squire; the two knights 
who had accompanied her from Vaucouleurs, two pages, Louis 
de Coutes, and Raimond, while later was added Jean Pasquerel, 
an Augustinian friar who was her confessor. Jeanne submitted 
to the Household and to the splendor with which she was now 
clothed, because it proclaimed the favor of the Dauphin, and 
was therefore best for her mission. 

But for her standard and her sword she herself gave direc- 
tions, for concerning these she had received revelations from her 
Voices. When Charles would have presented her with a sword 
to replace the one Robert de Baudricourt had given her she told 
him of a weapon at Fierbois which her Voices had told her 
to use. 

"I have sent a letter to the priests there at Saint Catherine's 
asking if I may have it," she said. "I told them that it would 
be found buried in the earth behind the altar. The messenger 
should return with it to-day." 

"If it be there," he remarked, half laughing. 

"It will be, fair Dauphin," returned the girl instantly, with 
the perfect faith in her revelations that was her strength. 

"But how will they know that it is the sword that you mean?" 
he questioned. 

"There will be five crosses on the handle," said Jeanne. 

The King dropped the subject for the time being, but he 
resolved to watch to see if the sword were found where the 
maiden said that it would be. He had indorsed her, but he wel- 
comed further proof of her inspiration. Alencon, La Tre- 
mouille and Queen Yolande were with him beside the peasant 

[198] 



THE WARRIOR MAID 

maiden, and these were listening with great interest to 
Jeanne's words. And now the favorite spoke, voicing the 
thought that was in Charles's mind: 

"I should like to see this mystic sword, your Majesty," he 
said, his tones reflecting his scepticism. 

The monarch smiled at his favorite without replying, but 
Alencon, detecting the underlying mockery, exclaimed with 
some heat : 

"By St. Martin! if the Pucelle says that the sword is under 
the altar at Saint Catherine's, it is there. And who denies it 
shall answer to me." 

"Gently, my cousin, gently," spoke Charles lazily. "There 
will be time enough for private quarrel after Orleans. 'Tis not 
doubt that made La Tremouille so speak, but a natural desire 
to witness the marvel." 

At this moment there came one who spoke to one of the 
gentlemen in waiting, who instantly approached the King. 

"Your Majesty," he said, "a man waits without. An ar- 
mourer of the city. He has but come from Fierbois, and he 
bears a sword which he is to deliver to the Maid whom he has 
been told is here." 

"Let him present himself at once," said Charles eagerly. 

Amid a hush of expectancy the armourer whom Jeanne had 
sent to Fierbois entered, and advanced toward the King. At a 
sign from the monarch he handed to him the sword that he 
bore. Charles drew the weapon from its sheath and examined 
it curiously. It was an ancient blade, and though it had been 
cleaned still showed traces of rust. Upon the handle there 
were five crosses, as Jeanne had said there would be. 

[199] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Did the priests know that the sword was there?" he asked 
of the man. 

"No, Sire. They said at first that the Maid must be mistaken, 
as they knew of no such sword; but, after much labor and 
search, 'twas found just where the Maid said that it would be. 
It was very rusty when it was taken from the earth, but when 
the priests started to clean it the rust fell away of itself. So 
marvellous is the matter deemed that there is a great stir over 
it at Fierbois, and the priests have had this scabbard of crimson 
velvet made for the Maid to carry the sacred weapon in." 

"The matter is of a truth marvellous," commented Charles, 
laying the sword in Jeanne's eager, outstretched hands. "But 
good blade though it be, Pucelle, it will need sharpening before 
it can be used." 

Jeanne hung her head, blushing. 

"It shall never be used for the shedding of blood," she said 
reverently. "I love it already, fair Dauphin, but it shall not 
be used to kill. I could not shed blood." 

Charles smiled slightly at the shamefaced confession. Here 
was the maiden anxiously awaiting the gathering of men-at- 
arms that she might lead them into battle, yet declaring that 
she could not shed blood. 

"And your standard?" he said gently. "Did you not say 
that you had received divine direction regarding it also?" 

"Yes; but — " Jeanne paused reluctant to continue. She 
did not understand the reason for the design upon the standard, 
and was diffident about telling of it. After some urging, how- 
ever, she told Charles the exact design that was to be emblazoned 
upon it, and was dictated to her by her saints — Margaret 

[200] 



THE WARRIOR MAID 

and Catherine, and the monarch had it painted accordingly. 

It was made of white linen, a precious fabric at this time, and 
over its field were scattered golden lilies. In the midst of it 
God was painted holding the world and sitting upon the clouds ; 
on either side an angel knelt ; the motto was Jesus Marie. The 
standard was symbolic of her mission: the lilies of France, the 
country she had come to save; God, who had sent her; and 
Jesus, the Son of Mary, her watchword. On the reverse side 
of the standard Charles had fashioned the chosen blazon of 
the Maid: a dove argent, upon a field azure. 

This was the great standard to be used for the rallying of 
all her host. She had also a banner and a pennon. On the 
banner was our Lord crucified between the Holy Virgin and 
Saint John. This was to be used for the gathering of the 
men for prayer and praise after they had confessed and made 
their consciences clean. On the pennon was wrought the An- 
nunciation, the angel with a lily kneeling to the Blessed Virgin. 
It was to be used as a signal to those who fought around her 
as guards to her body. The standard Jeanne declared that 
she would carry herself, which was unusual for one who was to 
act as general. But such was the command of her heavenly 
guides. 

"Take the standard on the part of God, and carry it boldly," 
they had told her. 

While all these preparations were being made Jeanne made 
a visit of a few days to Alencon's wife and mother at St. Florent 
near Saumur. Jeanne of Orleans made Jeanne of D'Arc 
warmly welcome. She was but a young girl herself, daughter 
of Charles Duke of Orleans, then nearly fifteen years a prisoner 

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JOAN OF ARC 

in England, whose city the English were besieging, and there- 
fore had a peculiar interest in the purpose of Jeanne D'Arc. 
She feared, though, for her husband's safety, remembering the 
three years that he too had been a prisoner to the English, and 
she told these fears to Jeanne just as the latter was starting 
to return to Tours. 

"Fear nothing, madame," comforted Jeanne. "I will bring 
him back to you as well as he is now, or even better." 

While Jeanne was at St. Florent the two knights, Poulengy 
and Metz, had gone with many others from Tours on a pilgrim- 
mage to Our Lady of Puy en Velay; for this year of our Lord, 
1429, was the year of Jubilee, as any year was called when 
Good Friday and the Annunciation fell upon the same day. 
The years in which this occurred were always marked by 
strange and great events, and crowds flocked to the church 
which was the oldest dedicated to Our Lady. 

The morning that the knights were to return Jeanne sat in 
an upper room of the house of Jean du Puy, whose wife had 
charge of her. It was the room where she received people, and 
was connected with the portal by a flight of stairs. There were 
many in the chamber, for she was now the commissioned Maid 
of War, with much to attend to. Presently her attention was 
caught by a commotion in the street below, and there came 
shouts and cries, and then the sound of footsteps. Wonder- 
ing at the tumult, for, — though many people were always wait- 
ing in the street below to see her come and go; sometimes 
striving to get close enough to kiss her hands or any part of 
her garments and hailing her as a messenger of hope, — there 

[202] 



THE WARRIOR MAID 

was seldom any disturbance inside the portal. Her amaze 
grew as footsteps were heard ascending the stairs. Presently 
there came a quick rush of men in haste. As the door was 
flung wide a young voice cried : 

"Jeanne, Jeanne! where are you? We have come to you, 
Jeanne." 

Jeanne uttered a cry of joy as Pierre and Jean, her brothers, 
came into the room, followed by the two knights and Father 
Pasquerel, her confessor. 

"Oh, boys!" she cried, trying to clasp both of them in her 
arms at once. "When did you come? How did you get here?" 

"We came with the knights and Father Pasquerel from Puy 
en Velay, where we went with mother on a pilgrimage. Then 
we came on here," Pierre told her, giving her a bearlike hug. 

"With mother?" exclaimed Jeanne in surprise. "Did 
mother go on a pilgrimage to Puy en Velay?" 

"Yes; she sends her love and blessing to you. She made 
offerings for you there," spoke Jean. 

"And father?" questioned she anxiously. "How is 
father?" 

"He grieves over your absence, Jeanne, but he sends his 
blessing and love also." 

"Now God be thanked," cried the Maid, weeping for very 
joy. "Oh, 'tis good to have you here, boys. Now you two 
shall be members of my Household, and be with me wherever 

I go." 

Happy indeed was Jeanne made by the coming of her 
brothers. It seemed like bringing her home to her. Now with 

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JOAN OF ARC 

Jean and Pierre with her, and the love and blessing of her 
parents she could proceed on her appointed way with light 
heart. 

By the twenty-fifth of April everything was ready for the 
march to Orleans. Jeanne now left Tours and went to Blois 
to meet the captains and soldiers. She found a busy scene at 
the little town. The roads were full of oxen, cows, sheep and 
swine all gathered for the victualling of Orleans. What with 
the lowing of the cattle, the bleating of the sheep, and the 
riotous noise of the soldiers in camp everything was in an up- 
roar. Jeanne established her Household, and then sent for the 
captains to come to her. Officers of wide renown were they: 
De Gaucourt, the old commander of Orleans, whom she had 
already met; Rais and Boussac, two marshals of France; 
Culent, the Lord admiral ; and La Hire, the Gascon freebooter. 
They revered her as a saintly child, but left her declaring 
among themselves that the Maid would inspire the army with 
courage, but as for war — When had there been a woman since 
the time of Deborah who had known aught of its art? This 
Jeanne found out afterwards. 

After this meeting Jeanne sent by a herald to the English 
a letter which she had dictated at Poictiers just after the deci- 
sion of the Doctors : 

"JHESUS MARIA 

"King of England, and you, Duke of Bedford, calling your- 
self Regent of France, you, William de la Poule, Comte de 
Sulford, John, Lord of Talbot, and you, Thomas, Lord of 
Scales, who call yourselves lieutenants of the said Bedford, 

[204] 



THE WARRIOR MAID 

listen to the King of Heaven: Give back to the Maid who is 
here sent on the part of God the King of Heaven, the keys of 
all the good towns which you have taken by violence in His 
France. She is sent on the part of God to redeem the royal 
rights. She is ready to make peace if you will hear reason and 
be just towards France, and pay for what you have taken. 
And you Archers, brothers-in-arms, gentiles, and others who 
are before the town of Orleans, go into your own country, at 
God's command; but if you do not, look to hear news of the 
Maid, who will shortly go to see you to your great hurt. King 
of England, if you will not do this, I am the head of the army, 
and wherever I meet your people in France I will make them 
flee, whether they will or no, and if they will not obey, I will kill 
them all. I am sent from God, King of Heaven, body for 
body, to drive you all out of France ; but if the soldiers obey, I 
will have mercy on them. Be not obstinate, therefore, for you 
shall not hold the kingdom of France from God, the King of 
Heaven, Son of Saint Mary; from him shall Charles hold it, the 
true heir, for God, the King of Heaven, wills it so, and so has 
it been revealed by the Maid. If you do not heed the word of 
God and the Maid, in whatever place we find you, we will put 
you to a greater rout than has been known in France for a 
thousand years, if you will not hear reason. And be sure that 
the King of Heaven will send greater strength to the Maid and 
to her good soldiers than you can bring with all your might, and 
then we shall see who has the better right, the King of Heaven 
or you. The Maid begs you and bids you, Duke of Bedford, 
not to bring destruction on yourself. If you will heed her you 
may come in her company where the French shall do the great- 

[205] 



JOAN OF ARC 

est work that has ever been done for Christianity. Answer 
then if you will still continue against the city of Orleans. If 
you do so you will soon recall it to yourself to your great mis- 
fortune. 

"Jeanne the Maid." 

Then into every part of the camp this girl of seventeen 
penetrated. Armies of the time were full of brutal license, and 
gambling, blasphemy, and other vices were prevalent. Wick- 
edness of all kinds was the rule. But rude, rough, and lawless 
though the soldiers were they had their adorations, and rever- 
enced holy things. To them the fair young girl was a saint. 
They adored her, and talked freely among themselves about her 
habits of life. She was good to the poor, she confessed daily, 
oftentimes she heard mass three times a day; there was too a 
grace of purity about her such as one might bear who descended 
from Heaven. So when Jeanne declared that the war was a 
Holy War, and that all who followed her must go clean of sin, 
gambling and dicing ceased, and men went to be shrived daily. 
La Hire, too, fierce ruffian though he was, gave up swearing, 
though he begged so hard to leave him something to swear by 
that she, having a sense of humor, left him his baton. 

All now being in readiness on the morning of the twenty- 
eighth of April the army started on its march to Orleans. The 
day was bright and beautiful, ideal for the beginning of such 
an enterprise. The brilliant sunlight flooded the fields and 
meadows gay with wild flowers. At the head of the army 
marched a long procession of priests bearing crosses, swinging 
censers, with holy banners as on a pilgrimage, and chanting the 

[206] 



THE WARRIOR MAID 

"Veni Creator"; the grave and solemn music of the church 
accompanied strangely by the fanfares and bugle notes of the 
army. Following these came Jeanne on a great white horse 
that the King had given her. She was clad in white armour 
inlaid with silver — all shining like her own Saint Michael him- 
self. A radiance of whiteness and glory under the sun — her 
uncovered head rising in full relief from the dazzling breast- 
plate and gorget. With her rode D'Aulon, her squire, follow- 
ing immediately after were her own faithful knights, her broth- 
ers, confessor, and pages ; while behind them stretched the main 
body of the army, a forest of glittering spears, the divisions com- 
manded by the respective generals. Then came the long train 
of carts and cattle to which the army formed an escort. God's 
Maid indeed seemed Jeanne as she rode, and with hearts beat- 
ing high with hope the citizens of the town blessed her as she 
passed up the road on the way to Orleans. 

Blois was thirty miles from the besieged city, on the right 
bank of the River Loire, on which side Orleans was also situ- 
ated. It was Jeanne's plan, in accordance with directions from 
Her Voices, which told her to go forward boldly, nothing doubt- 
ing, to go direct to Orleans by the road on the right bank, enter- 
ing the city by its western gate, past the English fortifications. 
But, knowing nothing of the country, she left the guidance of 
the army to her captains, who deceived her. 

The English had built a line of strong fortresses called 
bastilles around Orleans — fortresses which closed all the gates 
of the city but one. To the French generals the idea of trying 
to fight their way past those strongholds and lead the army and 
supplies into Orleans was preposterous ; they believed the result 

[207] 



JOAN OF ARC 

would be the destruction of the army. Jeanne's theory of the 
art of war was simple ; she believed it to consist in attacking at 
once the principal body of the enemy, but after the recent ex- 
perience at Rouvray the generals hesitated to face their enemies 
in the field. The generals therefore decided to march to Or- 
leans by the left bank of the river. How they were to cross the 
river when they came opposite to the city they seem not to have 
considered. Intending to use Jeanne's trust in the divine favor 
to stir up the enthusiasm of their soldiers they did not tell her 
their plans, but made her believe that Orleans was situated on 
the left, or south, bank of the Loire. 

Therefore, crossing the bridge at Blois they marched up the 
south bank of the stream. As had been said, it was thirty 
miles from Blois to Orleans, and the army passed one night in 
the fields. For the first time Jeanne slept in armour, and was 
in consequence bruised and chafed. When it is considered that 
this armour included a helmet (worn by her only at night) ; a 
neck-piece or gorget; a corselet; hip joints; a kind of skirt of 
steel, open in the centre for freedom in riding; strong shoulder 
plates; steel sleeve, gauntlets, thigh pieces, knee-joints, greaves, 
and shoes ; every piece being of steel, the wonder is that a mere 
girl could have carried such a weight. 

About noon of the succeeding day the army came upon the 
heights of Olivet, two miles south of Orleans, from which the 
city and the position of the besieging army could be plainly 
seen. Then Jeanne saw how she had been deceived. Between 
her and the town of Orleans lay the wide river, the broken 
bridge, and the camps of the English. 

How the cattle and so great a company of men-at-arms were 

[208] 



THE WARRIOR MAID 

to be ferried across under the artillery of the English, who held 
the bridge and the strong keep of Les Tourelles which guarded 
passage at this point, was a problem. On the further shore the 
people swarmed the walls and quays of the city, laboring to 
launch boats with sails, and so purposing to ascend the stream 
and meet the relieving army. But a strong wind was blowing 
down stream and it was impossible to bring up the heavy 
barges needed to transport men and provisions, while the army 
and the convoy seemed open to attack by Suffolk and Talbot, 
who could cross the river safely under the guns of the fort on 
the island and the bridge. 

Jeanne was bitterly indignant, and spoke her mind pretty 
plainly to the generals, to whom the absurdity of their plan was 
now apparent. She wished to attack the bastilles of the 
English on this side of the river at once, and the soldiers were 
eager to follow her, but the generals implored her not to think 
of it, as even though these were taken they would not have the 
strength to hold them. So again the army took up its march 
from Olivet and wended its way up the river to a point six miles 
above the city. The march was watched anxiously from the 
leaguered city, and so flat was the country that every movement 
could be marked after the troops left Olivet. When the ex- 
pedition stopped, the Count of Dunois, natural half brother of 
the Duke of Orleans and commander of the city, took boat and 
rowed up stream and across to meet it. Jeanne spurred for- 
ward to meet the hardy young man, brown of visage, who leaped 
from the boat. 

"Are you the Count of Dunois?" she asked. 

"I am," said he, "and right glad of your coming." 

[209] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Was it you that gave counsel that I should come by this 
bank and not by the other side, and so straight against Talbot 
and the English?" 

"I and wiser men than I gave that advice, believing it to be 
best and safest," he returned mildly. 

"In God's name, the counsel of Messire is safer and wiser 
than yours." She pointed to the water running rough and 
strong, a great wind following it, so that no sailing boats 
could come from the town. 

"You thought to deceive me, and you rather deceived your- 
selves, for I bring you better help than ever came to any captain 
or city, the help of the King of Heaven. It is not given for 
love of me, but comes from God himself, who at the prayer 
of Saint Louis and Saint Charlemagne has had pity on the 
city of Orleans, and will not suffer that enemies shall have the 
body of the duke and his city also. But have patience. By 
the help of God all will go well." 

And in a moment, as it were, the wind, which was contrary 
and strong, shifted, and became favourable, so that each vessel 
could now tow two others. Dunois was much impressed by this 
signal grace from God, and regarded the Maid reverently. 
Then taking advantage of the change he had the heavy barges 
towed up the river five miles, where the supplies were embarked 
without danger of attack, the army having marched along the 
river bank to the same place. As the loaded barges went down 
stream to the city, the garrison made a sortie against the 
English bastille of St. Loup, to prevent its defenders from 
firing upon the flotilla, and thus secured the safe arrival of the 
supplies. 

[210] 



THE WARRIOR MAID 

This being accomplished the Count of Dunois wished Jeanne 
to return with him to the city. The people were impatiently 
awaiting her coming, he said, and it would give them courage 
and hope merely to behold her. But Jeanne was reluctant to 
leave the army. It had been determined that it should go back 
to Blois, and make a new march, returning to Orleans by the 
north or right bank, according to the Maid's plan. Later it was 
found that Jeanne could have taken the army and supplies by 
the English forts just as she had designed; for the English 
soldiers were in a demoralized condition of superstitious terror. 
They too had heard of the coming of the divine Maid, but they 
believed her to be a witch in league with Satan. The French 
generals did not take this fact into account. 

Jeanne feared now to leave her army. She had been de- 
ceived once ; how could she know that the captains would keep 
the promise to return with the soldiers? Then too she might 
lose her hold upon the men if they were without her presence. 
So she was reluctant to consent to enter the city. Dunois im- 
plored the captains to promise to return, and to be content with- 
out her, and so save the disappointment of the people. The 
captains promised, and so, sending her own confessor, Father 
Fasquerel, and the great standard with the soldiers, Jeanne 
crossed the river with Dunois, taking with her her Household 
and a force of two hundred lances. 

It had been noon when they reached the heights of Olivet, 
but the march up the river, the transporting of the supplies, 
and the return march down the Loire had taken much time, 
so that it was nearly eight o'clock in the evening when she rode 
into the city, by way of the Burgundy gate. She was in full 

[211] 



JOAN OF ARC 

armour, mounted on the white horse, with her white pennon, on 
which was the Annunciation with the two angels, each bearing a 
lily in his hand, carried before her. At her left side rode Count 
Dunois in armour, richly appointed, and behind her came her 
Household and many noble and valiant lords and squires, cap- 
tains and soldiers, with the burghers of Orleans who had gone 
out to escort her. At the gate crowds of people were waiting; 
the rest of the soldiers and the men and women of Orleans. 
All the bells of the city were ringing, and the people laughed, 
and wept, and shouted for joy. The Maid, the God-sent Maid 
had come; and they rejoiced greatly, not without cause. For 
they had endured much labour, and weariness and pain, and 
what is worse, great fear lest they should never be succored, but 
should lose both life and goods. Now they felt greatly com- 
forted through the divine virtue of which they had heard in this 
simple maid. 1 

Through the glare of the torches Jeanne saw the sea of faces 
turned adoringly toward her. She stretched out her mailed 
hands toward them lovingly : 

"Be of good cheer," she cried. "Messire hath taken pity on 
your distresses." 

There came a press to touch her, and to touch even the horse 
on which she rode. So closely did the people come that a torch 
bearer was pushed against the pennon and the fringe took fire. 
Almost instantly Jeanne spurred forward, leaned down, and 
put out the flame with her hand, and the people shouted with 
enthusiasm. 

To the cathedral of Saint Croix the procession wended, and 

i Journal du Sibge, upon which this description is founded. 

[ 212 ] 



THE WARRIOR MAID 

entering it the maiden returned thanks. Once more the line 
of march was taken up, the people accompanying her the whole 
length of the city to the house of Jacques Boucher, treasurer 
of the duke of Orleans, where she was received with joy. She 
was to be the guest of Madame Boucher as long as she remained 
in the city. The Squire d'Aulon, her brothers, the two knights, 
and her pages were lodged in the same house. 

Jeanne was in Orleans at last, ready to show the sign for 
which she was sent. 



[213] 




CHAPTER XIX 

The Houe and the Girl 

"By Esther, Judith and Deborah, •women of high 
esteem, He delivered His oppressed people. And well I 
know there have been women of great worship. But 
Jeanne is above all. Through her God hath worked many 
miracles." 

Christian de Pisan. Poem in honour of the Maid. 

July 31st, U29. 

JEANNE was eager to engage the enemy the next day, 
and the citizens would gladly have followed her, but 
Dunois and the captains of the garrison did not wish it. 
Their argument was that they ought to await the return of the 
army from Blois. Jeanne's influence in war had not yet begun 
to be felt, and so great was the fear of the French for the 
English that it was said that two hundred Englishmen could 
put eight hundred or a thousand Frenchmen to flight. 

Forced into inactivity the Maid sent a herald with a summons 
to the English, a procedure common at the time. There had 
been no reply to the letter that she had sent from Blois, and 
neither had the herald been returned. In this later epistle she 
summoned the surrender of the enemy before the attack, de- 

[214] 



THE HOUR AND THE GIRL 

manding the return of her messenger. At the same time Du- 
nois wrote, warning them that any harm that came to the herald 
should be retaliated upon the persons of the English prisoners 
held by him. In compliance with Dunois' request the last 
herald was sent back, but the English threatened to burn the 
other. While the person of a herald was regarded as sacred 
by all the usages of war this man from the Armagnac witch 
could have no rights, they declared, and should be burned for 
his mistress. They laughed at the letter, and gave fierce de- 
fiances to the Maid, calling her a dairy maid, bidding her go 
back to her cows, and threatening to burn her if they caught her. 

But in spite of these high words there was an undercurrent 
of fear in the defiance. The English as well as the French 
believed that the latter had supernatural aid, though the 
English held that the Witch of the Armagnacs was emissary of 
evil rather than of good. 

In the afternoon La Hire and Florent d'llliers, two of the 
captains who had entered the city with Jeanne, with a force of 
men-at-arms and some citizens sallied forth from the city and 
attacked an English outpost between their fortress of Paris and 
the city wall, and drove the men into the main work. They 
thought to have burned this, but before they could do so the 
English rallied and drove them back without much firing. 

Jeanne was not present at this fray, but in the evening she 
rode forth, the townspeople crowding about her, and placing 
herself on the town end of the broken bridge — called out to 
the enemy, addressing them courteously, summoning them once 
more to withdraw while there was time. Sweetly and clearly 
her voice rang across the water, so that the English who were 

[215] 



JOAN OF ARC 

in the fortress called Les Tourelles on the other side of the 
bridge could not fail to hear her. Sir William Glasdale, — 
whom the French called Classidas, — the knight in charge, came 
out on the bridge and answered by hurling a volume of abuse 
upon her. Jeanne was not prepared for the foul epithets that 
he called her, and for a brief time could not speak, so over- 
whelmed was she. Then drawing her mystic sword she waved 
it above her head, crying: 

"Dost thou so speak, Classidas? Thou who art to die in so 
short a time without stroke of sword!" 

But Glasdale and his captains, who by this time had hur- 
ried to the walls to catch sight of the witch, retorted with 
such vile words that Jeanne could not restrain her tears, and 
wept bitterly. And so weeping she returned to the city. 

There being no sign of the return of the army Dunois, fear- 
ing that without the presence of the Maid the favorite and the 
Royal Council might so work upon the captains that they 
would fail to bring the army back, determined to go to Blois 
and bring it himself. On Sunday, therefore, with Jeanne's 
squire D'Aulon, he set forth. The Maid, with La Hire and 
other captains, accompanied him to cover the departure, taking 
a position at the special point of danger between the expedition 
and the enemy. But in the towers not a man budged, not a 
shot was fired. So Dunois went on his way unmolested, while 
Jeanne returned to the town. The citizens had watched for 
her coming, and now walked by the side of her charger to the 
cathedral, where every progress ended. The press to see her 
was at all times great, and Jacques Boucher's door was almost 
broken in by the eagerness of the people. She could hardly 

[216] 



THE HOUR AND THE GIRL 

move through the crowded streets when she went abroad, and it 
seemed that "they could not have enough of the sight of her." 

As an attack could not be made until the return of Count 
Dunois with the army Jeanne rode out on Monday to recon- 
noitre the position of the English, followed by the captains and 
soldiers and a great crowd of townsfolk who seemed to feel no 
fear in her company. 

On all sides of Orleans the country was very flat. The city 
was built close to the northern bank of the Loire in a parallelo- 
gram, slightly irregular on its western side, which curved out- 
ward and joined the northern line at an acute angle. It was 
protected by a strong w T all from twenty to thirty feet high, 
having a parapet and machicolations, with twenty-four towers. 
Outside the wall, except where it faced the river, was a ditch 
forty feet wide and twenty feet deep. 

There were four great gates in the walls that gave upon 
roads leading from Orleans. On the north side weie two, the 
Bannier Gate and the Paris Gate leading to the Paris road ; on 
the east was the Burgundy Gate and the old Roman road lead- 
ing to Jargeau; and on the west, the Regnart Gate upon the 
road to Blois. It was through this last named gate that Jeanne 
went to make her reconnoissance. 

She found that the principal camp of the English was on this 
western side. From the river northward, guarding the road to 
Blois, there were five great bastilles, joined by ditches and 
covered trenches whereby the enemy could easily prevent the 
going in of men and convoys of food. The massing of the 
greatest number here was necessary, as this road led to the royal 
provinces. 

[217] 



JOAN OF ARC 

To the northeast the great forest of Orleans crept nearly 
to the city walls. About a mile and a half beyond the Bur- 
gundy Gate on the east side was the bastille of St. Loup, which 
commanded the road to Checy and on to Jargeau, from which 
the English drew many of their supplies. This was one of their 
strongest fortresses, and was the only one on this side, for the 
reason that this road led to the possessions of the Duke of 
Burgundy, who was with the English, and therefore no enemy 
was expected from this direction. 

On the south, the walls of the city rose directly from the river. 
A great stone bridge with arches, buildings and fortifications 
spanned the water here, but three of the arches had been broken, 
for the English now held the bridge and its fortifications, having 
taken it from Orleans early in the siege. On the last pier was 
built a strong fortress called Les Tourelles, connected with the 
shore of the south bank by a drawbridge, which in its turn was 
covered by a strong earthwork or boulevard. 

As they held Les Tourelles the English had but three posts 
on the left side of the river. One, Champ St. Prive, that 
guarded the road by the left bank from Blois ; Les Augustins, 
that was a short distance inland from the boulevard of Les 
Tourelles ; and St. Jean le Blanc, that was higher up the river, 
and was a hold of no great strength. 

There had been faubourgs, or suburbs, "the finest in the 
kingdom," about the city, but their citizens destroyed them so 
that no Englishmen could be sheltered among them. Fifteen 
thousand people were thus rendered homeless, and crowded into 
Orleans, nearly doubling its population, and threatening all 

with famine. 

[218] 



THE HOUR AND THE GIRL 

As Jeanne rode round the city at leisurely pace necks were 
craned over the breastworks of the enemy to catch a glimpse of 
the witch, but not a shot was fired from the forts. Like a shining 
vision she seemed, clad in white armour, riding her white horse, 
her head covered by a little velvet cap ornamented with nodding 
plumes, her dark hair flying about her face, and though the 
English hurled words of abuse at her the lips that spoke them 
were pale with superstitious terror. Unmolested Jeanne com- 
pleted her survey, then led her people back through the gate 
into the city, then to the cathedral to vespers. Here Doctor 
Jean de Mascon, a "very wise man," said to her: 

"My child, are you come to raise the siege?" 

"In God's name, yes." 

"My child, they are strong and well intrenched, and it will be 
a great feat to drive them out." The wise man spoke despond- 
ently. 

"There is nothing impossible to the power of God," Jeanne 
made answer. 

The garrisons of Montargis, Gien, and Chateau Regnard 
came marching into the city the next day, bringing word that 
the army and convoy from Blois had started on the march for 
Orleans. 

At dawn of Wednesday, therefore, Jeanne with La Hire and 
five hundred of the garrison rode out to meet them. Dunois 
was coming by the route that Jeanne had wished to take on her 
entry, and it was found to be no difficult matter to make a wide 
detour around the forts, skirt the forest at the back of the city 
where the English had no bastille, and enter by the Paris Gate. 
So, led by the priests, chanting the Veni Creator, as at Blois, 

[219] 



JOAN OF ARC 

headed by Father Pasquerel bearing the great standard, 
Jeanne entered the city as she had planned to do. Right be- 
neath the forts of the English they rode and marched, but not 
a shot was fired, not a sally was made from the forts. John, 
Lord of Talbot, was a brave man, but not even a brave general 
can control demoralized and terrified men; men to whom the 
slender figure in shining armour seemed like nothing mortal. 
By noon Jeanne had her army safely housed in Orleans. 

DAulon dined with Jeanne, and while they were seated at 
table, the Count of Dunois entered and told the maiden that 
there was news that Sir John Fastolf, he who had defeated the 
French at Rourvay in the Battle of the Herrings, was coming 
from Paris with reinforcements and supplies for the English, 
and that it was said that he was but a day's march distant. 
Jeanne heard the tidings joyfully. 

"Dunois, Dunois," she cried, elated that at last action must 
come, "I command you, in God's name, to let me know as soon 
as he arrives. If you do not, I — will have your head." 

"For that I do not fear, Jeanne," replied the Count courte- 
ously. "I shall let you have the news as soon as it comes." 
Then he took his leave. 

Now there were some of the captains of the city who re- 
sented the enthusiasm with which the maiden had been re- 
ceived. This was quite natural among men who had been fight- 
ing unsuccessfully for months in defence of the beleaguered 
city. Dunois, La Hire, Poton Zaintrailles and a few others 
were exceptions to the men who felt jealousy of the Maid, but 
the others were sore and wounded by her appearance and 
claims. A certain Guillaume de Gamache felt himself insulted 

[220] 



THE HOUR AND THE GIRL 

above all by the suggestion that Jeanne should arrange the 
plan of procedure against the enemy. 

"What," he cried, "is the advice of this girl of the fields to 
be taken against that of a knight and captain! I will fold 
up my banner, and become again a simple soldier. I would 
rather have a nobleman for my master than a woman whom no- 
body knows." 

Dunois had tried to placate these men, but vainly. Jeanne, 
of course, knew nothing about it. Later she was to be greatly 
harassed by these jealousies. Those captains who had not 
shared in the expeditions of the morning to meet Dunois and 
the army took advantage of the enthusiasm aroused by the en- 
trance of the men-at-arms under the very guns of the enemy to 
make a sortie, unknown to the new leaders. They wished to 
show how well they could do without the presence of the Holy 
Maid of Vaucouleurs. 

Jeanne was wearied by the early morning expedition, and 
so laid down in the afternoon by the side of her hostess, Madame 
Boucher, and was asleep. D'Aulon too felt fatigued, and also 
stretched himself on a couch for rest. All at once Jeanne 
awoke with a wild cry of agitation and alarm. 

"My Council tell me to go against the English," she cried, 
springing out of bed. "But if to assail their towers, or to meet 
this Fastolf I cannot tell." 

And then her trouble grew, and her eyes had the rapt look 
left in them by her visions. 

"My arms, D'Aulon! My arms !" she cried. "Quick! The 
blood of our soldiers is flowing. Why did they not tell me?" 

All was quiet in the streets, and there came no sign of con- 

[221 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

fiict on the tranquil air of the May afternoon. But D'Aulon 
leaped to his feet at her cry, and without a word began to buckle 
on her armour, assisted by Madame Boucher and her little 
daughter. Meantime Jeanne was calling loudly to her page 
for her horse. Hurriedly the youth saddled the charger and 
brought it to the door. As Jeanne swung herself into the 
saddle she perceived that her standard was wanting. 

"My banner," she cried, and Louis the page handed it to 
her from the upper chamber window. Then with the heavy 
flag staff in hand she set spurs to her horse and dashed away 
at speed so that the fire flashed from the stones that paved 
the thoroughfare. One by one her attendants armed them- 
selves and clattered after her. 

And now came shouts and cries, and all at once the streets 
were filled with people who cried loudly that the English were 
slaughtering the French. 

Straight through the town Jeanne galloped, riding toward 
the loudest noise, which proved to be at the Burgundian Gate 
on the east side of the city. The gate was open to let in a 
rabble of retreating French who were bringing some wounded 
men with them. Overwhelmed with pity at the sight Jeanne 
paled, and half drew rein. 

"I can never see French blood but my hair rises with hor- 
ror," she said to D'Aulon, who had now overtaken her. 

Through the gate they passed, and met a disorganized band 
of men-at-arms, archers, and burghers flying before the Eng- 
lish. For the coup which had been planned by the captains 
was a sortie against the strong bastille of St. Loup, and it had 
proven disastrous to those who had undertaken it. 

[222 ] 



THE HOUR AND THE GIRL 

There went up a great shout from the French as they caught 
sight of Jeanne as she galloped through the gate. They rallied, 
turned, and swept onward after her. Clear and sweet above 
the din of battle sounded her bell-like voice: 

"Friends, friends, have good courage. On! On! They 
are ours." 

There never was anything like the response that followed. 
The French surged forward upon the English, who had sallied 
confidently out of the bastille to meet the first assault, and 
swept their foes before them, driving them back into their 
fortress. Gallantly the English fought, but they were no 
match for men imbued with divine ardour by the Maid. Every- 
where in the thick of battle the shining figure appeared, encour- 
aging and urging the men to greater efforts. Against the 
formidable walls of the bastille the French hurled themselves 
with irresistible fury. Back and forth the tide of battle surged; 
back and forth, for the English made a desperate resistance. 
Back and forth until the vesper hour when, with a mighty rush, 
the French carried the place by storm. St. Loup was taken. 
Before the English camp on the west side could hurry rein- 
forcements around the walls the bastille was sacked, riddled, 
burned. The English were cut off from Jargeau. 

Dizzy with the first victory that had been theirs in years the 
soldiers and burghers re-entered the city with banners flying, 
proudly displaying the prisoners and captured munitions. 
And the city went wild over the Maid who had wrought the 
miracle. La Hire, Dunois, Poton Zaintrailles, Rais and Bous- 
sac were ready to follow wherever she might lead. The citizens 
pressed upon her as she rode, adoring and worshipping. All 

[223] 



JOAN OF ARC 

the bells in the city rang joyfully, and in the churches soldiers 
and citizens alike "gave thanks to God by hymns and devout 
orisons." It was Jeanne's first battle, and she wept as she 
prayed for those who had died unshriven. As she rose from 
her confession she said to Father Pasquerel : 

"In five days the city shall be delivered; but I shall be 
wounded on Saturday, here." And she placed her hand upon 
a spot between her neck and shoulder. 

Thursday being the Feast of Ascension and a holy day there 
was no fighting. To Jeanne, whose mission was a holy one, 
it seemed right that the success of the day before should be 
followed up by an attack upon one of the English fortresses, 
but the captains pleaded the sanctity of the day, so none was 
made. But, while Jeanne confessed and took the Sacrament, 
exhorting the soldiers to do likewise, the captains held a Coun- 
cil at the house of the Chancellor of Orleans, Cousinot, taking 
care that news of it should not come to Jeanne. 

They decided that a feigned attack should be made upon 
the strong bastille of St. Laurent, which stood just beyond the 
Regnart Gate on the west side, which should draw off men 
from the forts beyond the river. When this was done the main 
body of the French would attack the weakened bastilles on the 
south bank and overcome them. The Maid, at the head of the 
burghers, was to make the feint while the nobles and their levies 
were to make the real assault across the Loire. But Jeanne 
was to be told no word of their design lest she should reveal the 
intention to the enemy. 

When they had come to this conclusion Ambroise de Lore 
was sent to bring the Maid to the Council, and when she came 

[224] 



THE HOUR AND THE GIRL 

in answer to the summons, Chancellor Cousinot himself told 
her they were to attack the great fortress of St. Laurent, and 
that she was to lead the attack. But of their real purpose he 
said no word. Jeanne's acuteness told her that something was 
being withheld, but she said nothing until he had made an end 
of the telling. Then she spoke quietly. 

"What is it that you have really decided? Why do you fear 
to tell me what it is? I can keep a greater secret than that." 

"Jeanne, do not be angry," spoke Dunois. "We cannot tell 
you everything at once. What the Chancellor has told you is 
true, but if the men in the bastilles go to the aid of those in 
the great fort we intend to cross the river, and fall upon 
them." 

Jeanne professed herself satisfied, and so the matter rested. 
But no part of the plan was carried out. That evening she 
made her last summons to the English. Going to the end of 
the intact part of the bridge, where the people of Orleans had 
erected a fort, she called across the water to the English in the 
Tourelles, telling them that it was God's will that they should 
withdraw from France. 

"I shall write no more," she said as she fastened a letter to 
an arrow and directed an archer to shoot it into the fortress. 
"I would have sent this in more honourable fashion, but you 
keep my herald, Guienne. Return him and I will return my 
prisoners taken at St. Loup." 

"News from the Armagnac wench," shouted a soldier as he 
ran forward to pick up the missive. "Cowgirl! Witch! 
Only let us catch you, and you shall burn." 

Jeanne could not keep back her tears as she heard these in- 

[225 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

suits, but calling the King of Heaven to her aid, she was soon 
comforted, and smiled through her tears. 

"I have tidings from Messire," she called back. "The Eng- 
lish shall depart, but you, Classidas, will not see it, for you 
will be dead. Without stroke of sword shall you die." 

The English hooted and jeered at these words, and hurled 
taunts and foul epithets upon her, and having given her last 
summons Jeanne returned to the city. 

She rose early the next morning and confessed to Father 
Pasquerel, who said mass for all the Household; then she set 
forth followed by her personal attendants and a multitude of 
citizens who were in armed readiness. 

The secret that the true attack was to be made on the forts 
across the river had somehow leaked out, but not through 
Jeanne. A number of burghers had been present at the Coun- 
cil, and they had not approved of the plan. When Jeanne ap- 
peared there was no word said about attacking the great fort 
of St. Laurent, but with one accord all took a line of march 
toward the eastern side of the city to the Burgundy Gate, 
which the troops must pass through in order to cross to the 
south bank of the river. 

That the captains intended to carry out the design and 
make their assault without Jeanne and the townspeople was 
evidenced when they reached the gate. It was closed and 
guarded by De Gaucourt with some men-at-arms. Angry 
murmurs arose as the people saw their former governor with 
his men drawn up in formidable array, and Jeanne cried 
quickly: 

"Gentle sir, in God's name, open the gate, and let us pass." 

[226] 



THE HOUR AND THE GIRL 

"I cannot, Jeanne," he said. "I have orders from the Coun- 
cil to keep it closed, and closed it shall remain." 

At this a shout went up from the citizens, and they moved 
toward him threateningly. They were in no mood for inter- 
ference. 

"You are an evil man to prevent these people from going," 
cried Jeanne. "But whether you will or no, the men shall go, 
and they shall prevail as before." 

Gaucourt hesitated. As he glanced at the stern faces of the 
citizens, who were determined to fight their way through, if 
necessary, he saw that he stood in peril of his life. With 
the ready wit of a soldier he threw wide the gate, crying: 

"Come on, I will be your captain!" And the people rushed 
through. 

Just above the bridge of Orleans there was a broad island, 
called St. Aignan, lying quite close to the south bank of the 
river, with a narrow swift passage of water between it and 
the shore. A little higher up the Loire, on the left side, stood 
the small fort of St. Jean le Blanc, which the English had 
built to guard the road. The plan of the captains was to cross 
by boat to the island, and thence by a bridge of planks laid on 
boats to the southern shore, and so make an assault on St. Jean 
le Blanc. It would be a task of some hours to bring troops, 
horses, and artillery, so the townsfolk being lightly encumbered 
crossed first. When the English captain of the bastille saw 
the boats put out he abandoned the post, and retired to the 
Bastille of St. Augustins, opposite the Tourelles. When the 
townspeople found the post undefended they were wild with 
enthusiasm, and, without waiting for Jeanne, marched on at 

[227] 



JOAN OF ARC 

once to Les Augustins, and attacked it. They were no match 
for the disciplined English, who rushed out to fall on them. In- 
stantly the old dread fell upon the citizens, and they became 
panic-stricken, fleeing in a disorganized rabble before the 
enemy, while De Gaucourt, their old governor, covered their 
retreat gallantly. Slashing, slaying, and hurling taunts and 
gibes at the routed French the English came on a run. 

At this moment Jeanne and La Hire, who had been having 
difficulty with the horses in getting them across the improvised 
bridge, reached the shore. Seeing the rout of the French they 
mounted hastily, and then these two, the Maid with her ban- 
ner, La Hire with lance at rest, charged the English. The 
English turned and fled incontinently at sight of the white 
figure on the white horse. The fleeing townsfolk rallied, 
turned, and following the men-at-arms, who had succeeded in 
crossing by this time, went after the Maid and the valiant La 
Hire, and chased the English back into their works. 

Swiftly following Jeanne planted her standard under the 
fort of the Augustins, in the moat, and the assault begun. 
The English fought bravely, and again the French were re- 
pulsed. And Jeanne was everywhere, inciting the men to 
greater deeds by her inspiriting cry. At length the rest of 
the main body of troops came up with the artillery, and the as- 
sault redoubled in vigour. 

The enthusiasm was with the French. Onset after onset 
was made. Knights vied with each other in feats of valour. 
A giant Englishman who gallantly defended the open gate was 
presently shot down by Jean the Lorraine gunner, and in- 
stantly Jeanne's clear, girlish voice rang out : 

[228] 



THE HOUR AND THE GIRL 

"Enter! Enter boldly! They are ours." 

In a terrible onslaught the French rushed in upon the de- 
fenders. A few of the English escaped to the boulevard of 
Les Tourelles, an earthwork connected by a drawbridge with 
the pier upon which the Tourelles stood; the rest were slain 
or taken. Great deeds at arms had been performed on both 
sides, and the victory was hard bought, but the Bastille of St. 
Augustins was taken. The sun was setting, and setting also 
was the glory of England in France. Verily God was speak- 
ing through His Maid. 



[229] 




CHAPTER XX 

Jeanne Shows Her Sign 

"But never a son of Adam, since the song of man mas 

scrolled, 

Has followed the golden lily, by wood or wave or wold, 

To triumph after triumph for which the people prayed 

In tain through years of anguish, as has the matchless 

Maid, 
The girl with the soldier spirit shrined in the angel 
mould — " 

Justin Huntly McCarthy. 
"The Flower of France" 

FOR fear that the men would fall into disorder while 
plundering the fortress Jeanne had the buildings of the 
Augustins burned. On the morrow the Tourelles must 
be attacked and taken, and the men must be in readiness for 
it. For this reason they were to encamp for the night on the 
hard won field. Jeanne wished to remain with them so that 
she might be ready to push the assault in the early morning; 
then too, she feared that a night attack might be made by the 
English, which of course was the proper procedure for the 
enemy. Jeanne always foresaw what an opposing force ought 
to do, and then tried to forestall it. But La Hire and the 

[230] 



JEANNE SHOWS HER SIGN 

captains besought her to return to the city and seek the serv- 
ices of a leech. 1 She had been wounded in the foot by a 
chausse-trape (a small piece of iron, which, falling in any posi- 
tion, turned a foot-piercing point uppermost). Both English 
and French lances carried them as part of their equipment. 
To be ready for the great work of the next day she must have 
proper rest, they told her. Finally the maiden consented, and 
with most of the captains and squires crossed the river to the 
town. The archers with a body of citizens remained on the 
field. 

It was Friday, and Jeanne was wont to fast on that day, but 
on this night she broke her fast and ate a little meat, for she 
was worn and weary. While she was eating a knight came 
to tell her that the captains were in Council, and that it had 
been decided that enough had already been done; that their 
forces were too much inferior to those of the English to hazard 
an attack upon the Tourelles the next day; that God had 
greatly favored them already, and that now it seemed wisest 
to await reinforcements from the King. The town was now 
well victualled and could afford to wait. Therefore, it did not 
seem best to the Council to fight the next day. 

Jeanne heard the announcement with quiet disdain. 

"You have been with your Council," she said, "and I have 
been in mine, and you may believe that the counsel of my 
Lord, the King of Heaven, shall prevail, while councils of your 
sort shall come to naught. Get up early to-morrow morning, 
fight your best, and you shall accomplish more than you have 
done to-day." 

i Leech : surgeon. 

[231 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

As the knight left she turned to her confessor, and said : 

"Rise to-morrow even earlier than to-day. Do your best to 
keep near me, for to-morrow I shall have yet more to do, and 
much greater things. To-morrow also blood will flow from 
my body here. ,, And again she placed her hand upon a spot 
above her right breast between her neck and shoulder. 

The Maid was up early the next morning, but early as it 
was some of the burghers were waiting to see her. They had 
heard the decision of the captains not to fight, and had held a 
meeting of their own. They were not minded to wait for re- 
inforcements from the King, they said. They had been in 
siege for seven months, and had nothing but broken promises 
from the King and his Councillors. Therefore, as God was 
with her, and had sent them succour through her it seemed mad- 
ness not to avail themselves of the divine favour. And they 
besought her to go out against the enemy that day in spite of 
the captains, and so accomplish the mission with which she had 
been charged. 

Jeanne needed no urging, but answered them with solemn 
intensity : 

"Be of good cheer. In God's name I will go against the 
English to-day. And the captains will go also, and will fight 
with us." 

The delighted burghers departed to spread the tidings, while 
the maiden ran down to the courtyard to mount her charger, 
followed by her attendants. 

"Stay, Jeanne," spoke her host Jacques Boucher, coming 
into the yard with a large fish, a shad, in his hand. "This is 
for your breakfast. Wait until it is cooked before you go. 

[232] 



JEANNE SHOWS HER SIGN 

You need food before starting upon so great an enterprise." 

"Keep it until supper, messire," cried the girl gaily. "I 
will back a Godon to share it with me, and to-night, gentle sir, 
I will come back by the bridge." 

"To-night, Pucelle? That may not be, for an arch of the 
bridge is broken." 

Jeanne laughed again without replying, and was off. The 
decision of the captains not to fight had been far from unani- 
mous. There were those who felt that the assault ought not to 
be postponed, and who were desirous of following the Maid, for 
over some of them she had gained great influence. Conse- 
quently when the great standard appeared in the streets, and 
the Maid with her company was making for the Burgundy 
Gate these men gladly flocked to her. Dunois, La Hire, 
Florent d'llliers, Poton Zaintrailles, Gaucourt, and many oth- 
ers crossed the river with her; there were some who remained 
in the city to guard it against attack. 

"I will have much to do, more than ever I had," Jeanne had 
said the night before. In truth it was no easy task that lay 
before the French. 

There was first a supporting work called a boulevard, on the 
south bank of the Loire, on solid land, to be taken before the 
Tourelles could be assailed. Its rear communicated with the 
bastille by a drawbridge, under which ran a deep, swift strip 
of the river. It was strong, with high walls and surrounded 
by a deep fosse. Should it be taken the garrison could retire 
by the drawbridge to the Tourelles which, being shut off by 
the Loire into an islanded position was considered impregnable. 
Its six hundred men, the pick of the English army, were made 

[ 233 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

a host by their captain, Sir William Glasdale, a brave and 
valorous knight. To drive such a man from such a position 
would be no light feat. The garrison was amply provided with 
cannon and small arms, and were full of determined courage. 

The French were as well equipped as the English with 
everything necessary for the attack: arrows and crossbolts, 
and all small arms, "pavoises," or strong wide screen shields, 
and movable wooden shelters to protect the advance of small 
advancing companies of assailants, cannon, ladders, beams for 
the ditches, and all the munitions of war. The French had the 
advantage in numbers over the English, but the latter were 
possessed of a seemingly unconquerable position. 

The French army, whom the men of Orleans had been busy 
all night feeding and encouraging, lay in the morning sun- 
light waiting for the leaders. When Jeanne and the captains 
appeared there was instantly the bustle of activity. With 
DAulon carrying her standard, accompanied by her faithful 
knights, her brothers and pages, the Maid passed through the 
ranks and took up her place on the border of the moat of the 
boulevard. About her the army was arranged in companies 
under its several captains, each flying its own standard. 

At six o'clock the assault began by a bombardment of the 
boulevard by the artillery, the stone balls of the cannons being 
thrown sometimes as far as the Tourelles itself. From the 
town the guns kept up a constant fire against the fortress. 

With uncalculating valour the French made the assault, 
varying the bombardment by furious sorties against the walls. 
The noise of attack and repulse was terrific. From every side 
the onset was made. Stooping forward with their shields 

[234] 




: FRANCE AND ST. DENYS ! : 



JEANNE SHOWS HER SIGN 

slung over their backs for protection the French ran up the 
scaling ladders in swarms, attacking the men at the top with 
such hardihood that the English cried in amazement: 

"Do they think that they are immortal?" 

Again and again the ladders were flung down, the climbers 
were shot, or smitten, or grappled with and dashed into the 
fosse. Valiantly the English fought with bow-shot and gun- 
shot, with axes, lances, bills, and leaden maces, and even with 
their fists, so that there were many killed and wounded. But 
like Antaeus, of whom it was fabled that being a son of the 
goddess, Tellus, or the earth, every fall he received from Her- 
cules gave him more strength, so the French returned to the 
charge after every repulse with such vigour that it was marvel- 
lous to behold. The air was filled with shouts and cries of the 
captains: "France and St. Denys!" "St. George for Eng- 
land !" It whirled to the singing of arrows, the twang of bow- 
strings, the clang of axes on armour, and the roar of guns. 

Exposed to all the dangers of the fray Jeanne stood, her 
clear girlish voice sounding high above the din and confusion 
of battle: 

"Be of good cheer. The hour is at hand!" 

But after many hours of desperate fighting the spirit of the 
assailants began to flag. Seeing this the Maid seized a scaling- 
ladder, and placing it against the walls started to mount amid 
a rain of arrows and stones. As she did so she cried clearly: 

"On, on! Be of good courage! They are ours." 

With a shout the French swarmed over the fosse with their 
ladders until there seemed a forest of ladders against the walls. 
Up Jeanne mounted, still crying out encouragements, and 

[235] 



JOAN OF ARC 

then — all in a moment a bolt whizzed, and uttering a cry of 
terror and pain the maiden reeled and fell. A great Hurrah! 
went up from the English — a mighty shout of triumph and re- 
joicing. The witch had fallen, and with her went the mysteri- 
ous force that had overwhelmed them. She was slain, or if 
not killed her blood was shed, which forever spoiled her witch- 
craft; for such was the superstition. Therefore they rejoiced, 
and renewed the defence with confidence. 

It was De Gamache, the captain who had said that he 
would not follow a girl of the fields whom nobody knew, who 
raised her, and carried her back. 

"Take my horse, brave creature," he said. "Bear no malice. 
I confess that I was in the wrong." 

"It is I that should be wrong if I bore malice," cried Jeanne, 
"for never was knight so courteous." 

Her own people had followed her when she was carried out 
of the fray. The bolt stood out a hand-breadth behind her 
shoulder, and the maiden wept with the pain. She was Gen- 
eral-in-Chief of the army, but she was seventeen, and after all 
but a girl, so she cried just as any girl would have done. Some 
one of the soldiers proposed to charm the wound with a song 
of healing, but the maiden cried: 

"I would rather die than do so, for it would be sin." 

And then, because none of her attendants would drag the 
bolt from her shoulder for fear of hurting her, she herself pulled 
it out, and as the blood gushed out she swooned. Father Pas- 
querel, who was surgeon as well as priest, dressed the wound 
with a compress soaked in oil, and Jeanne, recovering from her 
faint, made her confession to him, then lay quiet. 

[236] 



JEANNE SHOWS HER SIGN 

Meantime the battle languished. Discouraged assailants 
were drawing back from the boulevard out of bow-shot, and 
Dunois himself thought that there was no hope of victory, the 
day being nearly spent, and the men weary. So he had the 
recall sounded, and gave orders to retreat across the river. 
Brave work had been done, and the captains had not hoped to 
take the place in a month. The bugle notes of the retreat were 
welcome music to the English, and to the wearied French who 
had fought without cessation for thirteen hours. But when 
they sounded on the ears of the wounded Maid she heard them 
with amazement. 

She rose in haste, and somehow managed to mount her horse, 
and so rode to Dunois. 

"Doubt not," she said. "They are ours. Rest a little. Eat 
something. Refresh yourselves, and wait for me a little." 

With that she withdrew into a little vineyard close by, and 
prayed for the half of a quarter of an hour. When she ap- 
peared again her eyes were shining, her whole appearance that 
of one inspired. 

"On," she cried, "the place is ours." And she spurred to- 
ward the fosse. 

Now her standard had not been removed from the edge of 
the moat, for D'Aulon had kept it there to be a terror to the 
English and an inspiration to the French. When the trumpets 
had sounded the retreat he, being weary and outworn, had 
handed it to a Basque to be carried in the retirement. But 
after the order for the recall had been countermanded by 
Dunois at the request of the Maid, D'Aulon, moved to do a 
feat of arms, said to the Basque : 

[237] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"If I dismount and go forward to the foot of the wall, will 
you follow me?" 

"I will," said the Basque. 

So D'Aulon leaped into the fosse, his shield up, defying the 
English, but the Basque did not follow; for Jeanne, seeing her 
standard in the hands of a man whom she did not know, thought 
that it was lost, and seized hold of the floating end. 

"Ha! my standard! My standard!" she cried, and as she 
and the Basque struggled for it, the banner waved wildly like 
a signal for an immediate onset. The men-at-arms conceived 
it to be such and gathered for the attack. 

"Ha, Basque! Is this what you promised me?" cried 
D'Aulon, and the Basque tore the banner from the Maid, ran 
through the ditch and stood beside the emblem. By this time 
Jeanne's company stood about her. 

"Watch," said she to the knight at her side. "'Watch till the 
tail of the standard touches the wall." 

A few moments passed. The great standard fluttered with 
the movements of the Maytime breeze. Presently the knight 
cried : 

"Jeanne, it touches!" 

"Then enter," cried Jeanne her voice thrilling through the 
air. "In God's name, enter! All is yours." 

The troops rose as one man, and flung themselves against 
the walls. Up they swarmed, "as thick as a cloud of birds 
lighting on a bush," says the old chronicle. 1 "Never was as- 
sault so fierce and wonderful seen within the memory of living 
man." The English, amazed at the new onset, defended them- 

iPerc6val de Cagny. 

[238] 



JEANNE SHOWS HER SIGN 

selves valiantly, but the French were irresistible. The defend- 
ers became panic-stricken as the French swarmed over the top 
of the earthwork. Panic-stricken, not by the enemy but by 
that white figure standing there beneath her standard, the rays 
of the setting sun striking a dazzling radiance from her shin- 
ing armour. The witch was there. They had thought her 
dead, yet there she stood without sign of injury. 

"A crowd of butterflies hangs about her," a soldier cried in 
terror, throwing down his weapon and turning to flee into the 
Tourelles. 

"No; it is a dove," gasped another who followed him. 

Arrows flew on every side of the maiden, but never touched 
her, and on the French sped, incited to superhuman effort by 
the bell-like voice: 

"On, on! All is yours!" 

And the boulevard was taken. 

Showering down blasphemies Glasdale stood on the draw- 
bridge making a desperate effort to save his men by covering 
their retreat over the bridge into the Tourelles. Suddenly a 
foul smoke rolled up from the river, suffocating all who stood 
with him. The citizens had loaded a barque with sulphur and 
all manner of evil smelling things, and floated it under the 
drawbridge. Presently tongues of flames shot up from it, 
licking the rafters of the drawbridge, and darting through the 
planks, while all about them fell the stone bullets of the guns 
of Orleans, lighting on the roofs and walls of the Tourelles, 
and splashing in the waters of the Loire. Jeanne's quick eye 
saw the men's danger. 

"Classidas! Classidas!" she cried. "Yield thee, yield thee 

[239] 



JOAN OF ARC 

to the King of Heaven. I have great pity on thee and thy 
people." 

Before the compassionate voice died away the bridge bent 
under the rush of armoured men, and broke. Glasdale and his 
companions plunged downward into the great river and were 
seen no more, for the weight of their armour, the fire and the 
water all conspired against them. And at the sight Jeanne 
broke down and wept, then kneeling began to pray for their 
souls. 

Yet the greater part of the surviving English had succeeded 
in reaching the fortress, but here they found themselves as- 
sailed from another quarter — Orleans. The gap whence the 
arches had been broken had been spanned by gutters and beams, 
and through the smoke and dusk came the knights from the 
city, asaulting the Tourelles from that side. The struggle was 
soon over. Of all the stout defenders of the fort not one es- 
caped; all were slain, drowned, or taken and held to ransom. 
Talbot with his English in the forts before the city had heard 
the French trumpets sound the recall, and had believed that 
the battle was over. Now the flames of boulevard and bridge 
blazed out the story of a new defeat. 

The bells of Orleans pealed forth joyously as Jeanne re- 
entered the town by the bridge, as she had said she would do. 
The streets were crowded with people so that it was with diffi- 
culty that she could make her way through them. They 
pressed about her as closely as they could, to kiss her hand, her 
greaves, her mailed shoes, her charger, or the floating folds of 
her banner, while others went before her, crying: 
"Room! Room for the Maid of Orleans!" 

[240] 



JEANNE SHOWS HER SIGN 

She was no longer the holy Maid from Vaucouleurs or Dom- 
remy, she was their Maid; the Heaven-sent deliverer of their 
city; their Maid whom God had raised from among His poor 
for their salvation; their Maid, and so she has remained, and 
always will remain — The Maid of Orleans. 

Through all the delirious joy Jeanne rode in a maze of hap- 
piness, fatigue, languor, pain, and profound pity for the souls 
of those who had gone unshriven to their maker. She stopped 
only to return thanks in the Church of St. Paul, and then rode 
to her lodgings, and went to bed. 

On Sunday morning she arose and, weak from her wound, 
put on a coat of armour lighter than she had worn, and with 
Dunois and the captains marched out of the Regnart Gate, 
for the English had come out of their fortresses and were drawn 
up outside in battle array. The confident French soldiers were 
eager to attack them, but Jeanne was reluctant to do so. 

"Let us not attack them, for it is Sunday," she said. "But 
if they attack you, fight bravely, and you will get the better of 
them." 

She then sent for an altar and a priest, and bade him celebrate 
mass in front of both armies. When one mass was done, she 
bade him celebrate another, both of which she and the French 
and English soldiers heard with devotion. 

"Now look," she said, "and see if their faces are set toward us." 

"No," was the answer. "They have turned their backs 
and are retreating toward Meung." 

"In God's name, let them go," she said. "Our Lord does 
not wish us to fight them to-day. You shall have them an- 
other time." 

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JOAN OF ARC 

La Hire with a hundred lances followed the English and 
found that the retreat was genuine. They had collected their 
prisoners and all the property they could carry, leaving their 
sick, their heavy guns and ammunition, huge shields and pro- 
visions behind them. Jeanne's first herald, Guienne, was 
found bound to a stake preparatory to burning him. The Eng- 
lish but waited for the decision of the University at Paris be- 
fore the execution. Before it had time to arrive the siege was 
raised. 

The army of the French returned to the city and gave 
thanks, and made a procession; for they were delivered of the 
ancient enemies of the realm. 1 

That which had been declared impossible was done. The 
siege of Orleans was raised. Jeanne D'Arc had shown her 
sign. 

i This was the foundation of the festival that has been held ever since at Orleans 
on the eighth of May. It was suspended for a short time during the French 
Revolution, but resumed afterward. Since 1429 the day has been considered as 
belonging to the Maid, and so throughout the centuries it has been observed. 
Orleans does not forget Jeanne D'Arc. 



[242] 




CHAPTER XXI 



A Week of Wonders 



"The goodness of her life proves that Jeanne possesses 
the grace of God. . . . She goeth forth capturing towns 
and castles. She is the first captain of our host. Such 
power had not Hector or Achilles. But God, who leads 
her, does all." 

Jacques Gelu, Archbishop of Embrun. 11$9. 

AFTER a few days' rest Jeanne set forth for Chinon, 
where the King still remained. To raise the siege of 
Orleans and to lead the Dauphin to his crowning and 
anointing were the two charges laid upon her. She had per- 
formed the first, and wished now to accomplish the latter. 
There was too a lack of provisions and money, the troops were 
dispersing, and the help of Charles was needed if the army were 
to be kept together. After the fall of each bastille news had 
been sent to the King by the citizens, and he in turn forwarded 
the tidings to all the good towns that held for him. "The Maid, 
who was always there in person at the doing of these things," 
is the only leader mentioned in the dispatches. 

Consequently a royal welcome awaited Jeanne at all the 
towns through which she and her company passed. As she 

[243] 



JOAN OF ARC 

drew near to Tours she was amazed to see the King, accom- 
panied by some of the courtiers, ride forth to meet her. As 
soon as she saw him the maiden set forth at speed to greet 
him, bowing low in her saddle. But Charles reached forth his 
hand and lifted her, bowing in turn before her as though she 
were a queen. 

"Rise, dear Maid," he said, "and receive our welcome and our 
thanks for what you have done. It was a great deed, most 
gloriously performed. Such prowess merits rich reward ; there- 
fore speak, and say what poor return Charles may make for 
such services." 

Jeanne looked at him eagerly with all her soul in her eyes. 
There was but one desire in her heart. 

"Gentle Dauphin, the only boon I crave is leave to lead you 
to your crowning and anointing at Reims. Out of your good- 
ness I beg you to let us set forth at once; for now is the time." 

"At once?" The indolent monarch shrank from the sug- 
gestion, and there were murmurs among the courtiers, who did 
not wish anything to occur to interrupt their amusements. 
La Tremouille, the favorite, interposed quickly : 

"It is impossible, my dear Maid. His Majesty's person 
should not be exposed to such risks. Why, the road is filled 
with English and Burgundian strongholds. An army strong 
enough to open the way should first be raised, and that would 
take six weeks to equip." 

"But now is the time," cried Jeanne, dismayed that there 
should be delay. "We should strike now before the Duke of 
Bedford has time to send them reinforcements. If we wait 
our task will be but the harder." 

[ 244 ] » 



A WEEK OF WONDERS 

"Patience, patience, Jeanne," spoke the King soothingly. 
"We will go, we promise you, but not just now. You are 
wounded too, we hear, and sadly need the rest. So have pa- 
tience for a little, we beseech you." 

So Jeanne was forced to curb her eagerness while the King 
dawdled away the precious days in idle pleasure. She had 
spoken truly: the time was ripe for action. Charles had but 
to mount and ride and all was his at a blow. Had he but gone 
straight to Reims, after Orleans, and thence on to Paris, every 
city would have opened its gates to him. So obviously was this 
the thing he ought to do that, supposing it would be done, the 
Duke of Bedford left Paris and shut himself up in the strong 
castle of Vincennes, dreading an uprising among the people. 
Then next he wholly withdrew to Rouen, for he had no force of 
men to guard the walls of Paris. But through the influence of 
La Tremouille, Regnault de Chartres, the Archbishop of 
Reims, and Raoul de Gaucourt, the former governor of Or- 
leans, the golden opportunity was lost. 

It was no part of the policy of these men to allow the King 
to shake off his indolence, and from this time forth they set 
themselves to thwart the peasant Maid who so amazingly upset 
their plans and schemes. It was never English or Burgundians 
whom Jeanne had to fear the most. They were open enemies, 
and with a good company of men-at-arms she could overcome 
them. It was the constant efforts of these foes at Court that 
undermined her influence and neutralized any advantage that 
she might gain. 

The campaign of Orleans had been allowed. La Tremouille 
was willing that the city should be relieved, if it could be done 

[245] 



JOAN OF ARC 

without danger to his power, but the completeness of the girl's 
victory had aroused his opponents, and there was a dangerous 
current of French patriotism awakening which, unless subdued, 
meant the overthrow of himself and his party. It was said of 
him truthfully that he had "a foot both in the Burgundy and 
French camps," and the present state of France suited him 
admirably. So Jeanne found herself opposed by these 
wretched politicians in her plans for the redemption of her 
country. Her true friends were the gallant captains of the 
armed companies that accompanied her on the campaigns, and 
the simple people who believed that she had a mission from 
Heaven, and was inspired by saints and angels. 

Thus, longing for the dash of action that would drive the 
enemy from the land, Jeanne was thrown into the frivolity of 
the Court instead. A fortnight was spent by Charles in 
lengthy debates with his Counsellors, and in a round of pleas- 
ures ; then he removed to Loches, some thirty miles from Tours, 
where there was a grim fortress better suited to his humours 
than a city. Being a part of his household, Jeanne went also. 

In every place that she entered the people crowded about 
her horse, and tried to kiss her shoes or her hands. The Abbot, 
Robert le Macon, one of those who had examined her at 
Poictiers, reproved her sharply for allowing these manifesta- 
tions, and told her that it was making the people idolatrous. 

"In truth," answered Jeanne, smiling at him, "I should not 
know how to guard myself from these things, unless God 
guarded me. They love me because I have never done them 
any unkindness, but helped them as I could." 

Charles tried by means of rich gifts to make the maiden con- 

[246] 



A WEEK OF WONDERS 

tent to remain in idleness, and so to cease from importuning 
him to set forth for his anointing. But, though Jeanne de- 
lighted in pretty clothes and presents, as was natural in a young 
girl, she never for one moment lost sight of her mission. Nor 
did she abstain from entreating the Dauphin to go to Reims. 
And now Alencon and Dunois, her good friends, came to the 
Court, and added their pleas to hers that he should set forth 
for the crowning, but Charles did not discover the hurry to 
save his kingdom that they did. 

Greatly distressed by the waiting, one day Jeanne's patience 
reached its limit. Knowing that the King was in Council with 
Sir Christopher d'Harcourt, Gerard Machet, his confessor, 
Robert le Macon and Dunois, she went boldly to the door of 
the Council Chamber, and knocked. Being admitted she went 
at once to the monarch, and threw herself at his feet, clasping 
his knees. 

"Noble Dauphin, you hold so many and such long Councils," 
she cried. "Rather come to Reims and receive your worthy 
crown." 

"Does your Counsel tell you to say this?" asked d'Harcourt, 
the Bishop of Castres. 

"Yes," replied Jeanne. "The Voices urge this chiefly." 

"Will you not tell us in the presence of the King the nature 
of this Counsel?" 

Jeanne blushed and hesitated before replying. Then she 
said: 

"I understand what it is that you wish to know, and I will 
gladly satisfy you." 

"Jeanne," said Charles kindly, "it would be very good if you 

[247] 



JOAN OF ARC 

could do what they ask in the presence of those here; but are 
you sure that you are willing to speak about it?" 

"Yes, sire," she answered simply. Then she turned to them, 
and spoke with visible emotion. 

"When I am vexed to find myself disbelieved in the things 
I say from God, I retire by myself and pray to God, com- 
plaining and asking of Him why I am not listened to. And 
when I have finished my prayer I hear a Voice saying: 
'Daughter of God, on, on! I will help thee. On!' And 
when I hear the Voice I have great joy. I would that I could 
always feel thus." 

The maiden's face shone as she spoke, "lifting her eyes to 
Heaven, and she was in marvellous ecstasy," so that the men 
who heard her were dazzled, and sat speechless looking on. 
Then all in a moment there came a change. Jeanne's features 
worked, and she was overcome by emotion. She turned toward 
the King beseechingly, and cried brokenly : 

"The time is so short. Oh, use it, use it, sire. I shall last 
such a little while: only a year and little more. Oh, sire, 'tis 
such a little time to work for France." 

Charles was deeply moved, as were also those with him. 

"Dear Maid," he said, "I will go whenever you — " Robert 
le Macon interposed softly: 

"When the roads are clear between here and Reims. Your 
Majesty. It would not be wise to risk your person on an un- 
certainty." 

"Let me clear the road, noble Dauphin," exclaimed the 
maiden quickly. "I beseech you, out of your grace to grant me 
leave to do it." 

[248] 



A WEEK OF WONDERS 

"There still remain the strong places on the Loire which will 
have to be broken up," remarked the King dubiously. 

"They can be broken up. Then you can march." 

"Well, you have our permission to do it, Jeanne," said the 
monarch, half laughing. "Never was there such an indefati- 
gable little soldier!" 

"When may I begin, sire?" Jeanne's delight was plainly 
evident. The delay was over ; action might begin. No wonder 
she rejoiced. 

"As soon as you please," Charles told her graciously. 

Joyously the girl left the room, and began immediately the 
task of gathering the army together; the army that had been 
forced to disband through the inertia of its King. A tide of 
popular enthusiasm arose as soon as it became known that the 
English towns on the Loire were to be attacked, and from all 
quarters came men eager to fight, with or without pay ; begin- 
ning again to hope for their country and aroused by the Maid's 
exploits before Orleans. Selles, a town of Berri, about fifteen 
miles from Loches and about fifty miles south of Orleans, was 
chosen for the recruiting camp. 

Thither, among other nobles, came one day the two young 
Counts de Laval: Guy and his brother Andre, who could not 
rest until they had seen Jeanne. Their father had been slain 
at Agincourt, and they had been brought up by their mother, 
who had defended their castles against the English, and by 
their grandmother, in her youth the wife of the great constable, 
Bertrand Du Guesclin, who had done great deeds for France. 
Full of boyish enthusiasm for the Maid, they wrote home to 
their mothers, telling them of Jeanne: 

[ 249] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"She seems a creature wholly divine, whether to see or hear. 
Monday at vespers she left Selles to go to Romorantin, three 
leagues in advance of the army, the Marshal of Boussac and 
a great many soldiers and common people being with her. I 
saw her get on horseback, armed all in white, except her head, 
with a little battle-axe in her hand, riding a great black courser, 
which was very restive at the door of her lodgings, and would 
not let her mount. So she said, 'Lead him to the cross,' which 
was in front of the church near by, in the road. There she 
mounted without his budging, just as if he had been tied. And 
she turned to the church door and called in her sweet woman's 
voice: 'You priests and churchmen, make processions and 
prayers to God.' She then set out on the road, calling, 'For- 
ward! Forward!' with her little battle-axe in her hand, and 
her banner carried by a page. Her brothers went with her, 
all armed in white." 

At Romorantin Jeanne and Alencon, who had been given 
the command under the Maid, were joined by Dunois and 
other captains, and together they entered Orleans on the Ninth 
of June. The people received her with joy, and set about 
supplying her impoverished army with supplies and artillery, 
making their gifts directly to the Maid whose courage and 
wisdom they had cause to know. They were grateful for 
their deliverance, but to make that deliverance secure the Loire 
must be cleared of the strongholds that menaced it. The first 
point of attack was Jargeau, which lay above Orleans on 
the south bank of the Loire, about ten miles. It was con- 
nected with the north bank by a bridge, which was the only 
bridge across the river between Orleans and Gien, and was held 

[250] 



A WEEK OF WONDERS 

for the English by the Earl of Suffolk, one of the commanders 
before Orleans, who had retreated into this place after the 
raising of the siege. Ten miles below Orleans lay Meung, 
which also had a fortified bridge, and six miles below Meimg 
was Beaugency, with a bridge also fortified. Both these places 
were held by the English, Talbot being in Beaugency, and 
Lord Scales, his lieutenant, being in Meung. The next bridge 
across the river was at Blois, which was French, so that the 
English could cross either above or below Orleans into the 
Dauphin's provinces. By bringing large reinforcements into 
these places the siege of Orleans could be renewed at any time 
by the English. It was the part of wisdom to clear them of 
the enemy. 

As has been said, the first point of attack was Jargeau, for 
the reason that news was brought that Sir John Fastolf was 
proceeding toward it with reinforcements, and it was Jeanne's 
plan to attack it before he could reach it. It was a strong 
place. After Jeanne left Orleans Duneis had stormed it un- 
successfully for three hours, and Suffolk had strengthened its 
defences. Its garrison was experienced in all the arts of war. 

On the eleventh of June the advance was begun on the town, 
and on the way the associate commanders were seized with hesi- 
tation, using many arguments to get the Maid to postpone the 
attack. To which she replied : 

"Success is certain. If I were not assured of this from God, 
I would rather herd sheep than put myself in so great 
jeopardy." 

The men of Orleans were in the van, and, encouraged by the 
marvellous success of the month before, rushed to the attack 

[251] 



JOAN OF ARC 

without waiting for the men-at-arms or the artillery, and tried 
to storm the place. The garrison easily beat them off, and 
charged upon them, driving them back to the main body. 
Then Jeanne rode forward, standard in hand, and led the 
men-at-arms to the rescue. The English in turn were driven 
back, the French occupied the environs to the very ditch, and 
passing the night there, after the Maid had summoned Suffolk 
to yield peaceably to the Dauphin. 

The next morning the artillery was placed and Alencon won- 
dered audibly at Jeanne's expertness in laying the guns. 

"Where got you such skill in military matters, Jeanne?" he 
exclaimed. "Who taught you where to set those guns? 
You go to work as though you were a captain of twenty or 
thirty years' experience." 

"It is my Lord who tells me," answered Jeanne, regarding 
him with reverent look in her large grave eyes. "When I see 
a place I know at once where the artillery should be placed." 

At which the young duke's wonder grew; for he knew that 
she had never seen ordnance until at Orleans the month before. 
While the captains were planning the mode of attack word 
came that the Earl of Suffolk was parleying with La Hire, 
offering to surrender if not relieved within fifteen days, no 
doubt believing that Fastolf would arrive with reinforcements 
before that time. 

"Tell them that they may leave in their tunics, without arms 
or armour," cried Jeanne. "Otherwise the place will be 
stormed at once." 

The terms were refused by Suffolk, and immediately the can- 
non began their work. One of the towers of the town was 

[252] 



A WEEK OF WONDERS 

destroyed, and the sharpshooters of the French picked off some 
of the garrison with their culverins. The English too used 
their artillery with telling effect. As Jeanne and Alencon 
stood watching the bombardment, she cried out to him suddenly, 
recalling the promise she had made his wife to bring him back 
safe. 

"Change your position. That gun will kill you !" pointing to 
a gun on the walls. Alencon stepped aside quickly, and a few 
moments later a gentleman was killed on that very spot. 

Soon Jeanne urged an assault on the walls, which Alencon 
believed to be premature. He thought that the artillery should 
continue the bombardment before the attack should be made, 
and was therefore reluctant to follow. As the trumpets 
sounded the assault, and he did not advance, Jeanne turned 
upon him quickly: 

"Why do you hesitate?" she asked. "Doubt not! When it 
pleases God the hour is prepared. God helps those who help 
themselves." As he still hesitated she added: "Ah, gentle 
duke, are you afraid? Do you not know that I promised your 
wife to bring you back safe and sound?" Thereupon they both 
rushed to the attack. 

As the body of the men rushed into the fosse to plant the 
scaling ladders Suffolk tried to parley, but it was now too late. 
The English resistance was effective and stubborn, so that for 
several hours the struggle went on with Jeanne in the thick of 
it. The ditch was bridged and, banner in hand, the Maid 
started up one of the scaling ladders as at the Tourelles and 
tried to mount the wall. One of the garrison threw down a 
stone which crashed through the banner, struck on the light 

[253] 



JOAN OF ARC 

helmet that she wore, and stretched her stunned to the ground. 
For a moment only she lay, and then springing to her feet un- 
hurt, she cried: 

"Friends, friends, on! On! Our Lord has condemned 
the English. They are ours! Have good courage." 

The French had learned that cry. They knew that victory 
awaited them, and swarmed over the walls in a rush that car- 
ried all before them. Suffolk retreated toward the bridge, hop- 
ing to escape across it into the Beauce, but the French followed 
him too closely. One of his brothers and many of the garrison 
were slain, but he and all who were left alive were captured. 
As Suffolk was surrounded a knight cried: 

"Yield thee, Suffolk! Yield thee, rescue or no rescue!" 

"I will yield to none but the most valiant woman in the 
world," answered Suffolk proudly. And he would give his 
sword to none other than Jeanne herself. 

So Jargeau was taken. 

The town even to the churches was sacked, and Jeanne found 
herself powerless to prevent the sacrilege, but she profited by 
the experience. Some of the prisoners had been butchered 
because their captors had quarreled over the right to ransom 
them, so that it was deemed best to send the other captives down 
to Orleans by boat during the night. This was another lesson 
that Jeanne took to heart. 

Alencon and Jeanne returned in triumph to Orleans, where 
the burghers gave them a royal welcome, making them many 
presents. Among Jeanne's were a hucque and a rich robe of 
the Orleans colors, green and crimson. In the old times the 
green had been bright and clear, but it had darkened after the 

[ 254 ] 



A WEEK OF WONDERS 

murder of Duke Louis by Jean Sans Peur of Burgundy, and 
since Agincourt was almost black. The hucque was of green, 
and the robe, or overcoat, was of crimson "cramoisy" lined with 
white satin and embroidered with the device of Orleans, the 
nettle. 

With Meung and Beaugency still left to attack Jeanne felt 
the necessity of immediate action. Sir John Fastolf was at 
that very time at Janville, only twenty-five miles' distant from 
Jargeau ; since that town had fallen he would press forward to 
Talbot's assistance. The Maid permitted but one day of rest 
in Orleans. 

"Now we must go to see the English at Meung," she told 
Alencon. "We will march tomorrow after dinner. Give 
orders to that effect." 

Meung, as has been said, was the nearest fortified town to 
Orleans down the river, being distant some ten miles. Its 
bridge was a mile upstream from the town, and well fortified. 
It was attacked the afternoon of the next day, as Jeanne had 
desired, and fell easily. Placing a French garrison in the 
bridge towers the Maid with her forces camped for the night in 
the fields and next morning passed on down the river to Beau- 
gency. These towns with their castles and towers were very 
conspicuous on the flat plain of the Loire; and bodies of men 
were easily seen by the watchmen on the walls. As soon, there- 
fore, as the English saw the French approaching they did 
not try to defend the town, but retired into the castle, leaving 
men ambushed in houses and sheds to surprise the French. 
They were under command of Matthew Gough, a brave Welsh- 
man, for Talbot, having no force sufficient to meet the enemy 

[255] 



JOAN OF ARC 

in the field, left Beaugency and rode off with a small company 
to Janville to hasten the coming of Fastolf. As the French 
marched into the town the men hidden in the houses fell upon 
them, but with losses upon both sides were driven into the castle. 
Jeanne placed the guns, and battered the castle until evening, 
when news came that was disturbing; for the Constable of 
France was advancing with a force of men and wished to 
join her. 

The Comte de Richemont, Constable of France, was a great 
nobleman and a famous leader, but at the present time was in 
disgrace with the King and exiled from Court, largely through 
the machinations of La Tremouille and his party. He had 
wished to assist in raising the siege of Orleans, but the King 
had forbidden it, and consequently his approach caused both 
Alencon and Jeanne disquietude. 

He was no friend of Jeanne's, believing it to be a disgrace to 
France that her armies should be led and victories gained by a 
woman, probably a witch, a creature unworthy to stand before 
armed men. The Constable could hardly be blamed for hold- 
ing this opinion of the Maid ; excepting those who came in per- 
sonal contact with her such belief was general. The captains 
and soldiers reverenced her, holding that she was truly sent of 
God; the simple people had no doubt of it. The English be- 
lieved firmly that she was a witch. The Regent Bedford in his 
report to England concerning the failure of the siege of Orleans 
said that it was caused by "false enchantments and witchcraft of 
a Maid." Richemont was a sworn enemy to all such. 

The French generals were divided over the advisability of 
receiving him. He was own uncle to Alencon, and the latter 

[256] 



A WEEK OF WONDERS 

had no personal quarrel with him, but the King's command 
was that Richemont should not be received should he come with 
his force. Alencon, therefore, declared that he would withdraw 
should the Constable's aid be accepted. It was an embar- 
rassing moment. Jeanne herself did not regard his coming 
with much pleasure, but it was not her way to reject any cham- 
pion of France. So, as just at this time news was received of 
the advance of the English under Talbot and Fastolf, she per- 
suaded Alencon that they ought to accept the proffered aid 
gladly. 

"He is French, my gentle duke," she said. "And French- 
men ought to lay aside private quarrels for France. In God's 
name, then let us welcome him." 

In the end this wise counsel prevailed, and both Jeanne and 
Due Alencon rode forth to meet the Constable. 

"Jeanne," said Richemont, as the maiden alighted from her 
horse to greet him, "they tell me that you are against me. I 
know not whether you come from God — or elsewhere. If from 
God, I do not fear you, for He knows my good will; if from 
the Devil, I fear you still less." 

"Brave Constable," returned the maiden, smiling, "y° u are 
not here by any will of mine; but since you are here you are 
welcome." 

They then mounted and rode back to Beaugency. Imme- 
diately they were obliged to make ready for battle, for Talbot 
and Fastolf had come up with their forces, and rested at a spot 
between Meung and Beaugency, distant about a league from 
each town. The French army took up a strong position on a 
hill in front of Beaugency, covering the siege of the castle and 

[257] 



JOAN OF ARC 

the town. Night was coming on, but the English formed in 
line of battle, and waited for the French to begin the attack, 
From their excellent position the French watched the enemy's 
preparations, but made no move to fight. Becoming impatient 
the English sent two heralds, saying that three English knights 
would fight any who would come down into the plain. Jeanne 
declined the challenge. 

"Go to your rest to-day," she sent back word. "It is late 
enough. To-morrow, if it please God and Our Lady, we shall 
see you at closer quarters." 

Later, scouts reported to Jeanne and the French captains 
that the English were withdrawing from their position in the 
plain, and were headed northward. 

"They are going to Meung," cried the Maid joyfully. 
"They will occupy the town, and try to take the bridge, thinking 
to come down on the other side of the river, and so relieve the 
garrison here at Beaugency in that way. But Beaugency will 
surrender as soon as it hears the news that Talbot has gone." 

Which proved to be the case. Matthew Gough, upon learn- 
ing that the English army had retreated, felt that his case was 
hopeless. He had seen that Alencon was reinforced by the 
Constable, and believed that Talbot had left him to his fate. 
Therefore, at midnight he capitulated on easy terms. His 
men with their horses and armour, and goods to the value of a 
silver mark, were allowed to march away, on the condition that 
they were not to fight against the Dauphin for ten days; he 
himself was held as hostage. 

At dawn the French were up and away to Meung, where they 
found that Talbot had indeed been battering the bridge held by 

[258] 



A WEEK OF WONDERS 

the French all night long, but the bridge held. On receipt of 
the news that Gough had surrendered Talbot and Fastolf with 
all the united forces of the English set off across the wooded 
plain of Beauce, as the country north of the Loire was called, 
for Paris. 

The French were uncertain what to do. An encounter in 
the open field, an open hand-to-hand battle between the French 
and the English, had heretofore resulted in victory for the 
English. Such a thing as the French holding their own and 
attaining victory over the enemy had never been known. 
They would rather avoid an engagement than risk such a dis- 
aster. To arrive at an understanding Alencon assembled the 
captains for a Council of war. He turned to Jeanne first. 

"What shall be done now?" he asked. 

"Have good spurs," she told him. 

"What?" he cried astonished. "Are we to turn our backs?" 

"Nenni," answered she, laughing. "The English will not 
defend themselves, and you will need good spurs to follow 
them." 

There was a murmur at these words ; a murmur of confidence' 
for the prophecy put heart into men who had been wont to fly 
instead of pursue. Eagerly now they prepared to follow the 
retreating English. La Hire and Dunois with a company of 
eighty men, mounted on the best horses, rode in advance, and 
the main body of the army came more slowly. Jeanne pre- 
ferred going with the vanguard, but the leaders feared that 
they might run into an ambush, and would not permit the risk. 
Jeanne was angry over this. She liked the thick of the fight, 
and chafed at following, but it was well that she remained 

[259] 



JOAN OF ARC 

with the main body, for the men needed encouragement. 

It was a long ride and a dangerous one. The wide plain 
was covered by a dense growth of underbrush and trees, and 
there was danger of an ambush. Not an Englishman was 
visible. Cautiously the French made their way, and some of 
the captains began to show signs of uneasiness. Jeanne en- 
couraged them constantly. 

"In God's name we must fight them; if they were hung in 
the clouds we should have them, for God has sent them to us 
that we might punish them." And again: 

"Fear naught. This day the gentle Dauphin shall have the 
greatest victory he has ever won ; my Counsel have told me that 
they are ours." 

The pursuit continued until near Patay, a town standing 
midway between Meung and Rouvray, where Fastolf had won 
the Battle of Herrings in February. La Hire and his scouts 
were scouring the country to get trace of the English, but with- 
out success. All at once they roused a stag as they rode, and, 
startled, the animal bounded away before them, disappearing 
into some bushes which grew as a hedge by the roadside. In- 
stantly there came a shout from English voices — a cheer of de- 
light as the creature plunged among them, and, not suspecting 
that the French van was so near, they began to fire upon it. 

La Hire drew rein, and sent back a messenger to the main 
army to hurry forward. Then with a shout he and his com- 
pany spurred forward, and charged the English before they 
had time to form, or to set up their usual defenses. 

Now Talbot had been marching in three bodies. First, the 
advance guard ; then his artillery ; then his battle corps a good 

[260] 



A WEEK OF WONDERS 

way in the rear. When he was within a league of Patay some 
of his scouts reported that a large body of the French was 
advancing toward him. Seeing that he could not escape with- 
out some fighting he posted his advance guard with the wagons 
and artillery behind some strong hedges which would cover 
their front from the French cavalry. He himself with five 
hundred archers halted in a place where the road through which 
the French must pass was bordered on both sides by a hedge. 
Here he stood waiting for the enemy, waiting too for his main 
body of troops under Sir John Fastolf to join the train, when 
the advent of the stag discovered his presence to the French. 

The English archers were thrown into wildest confusion and 
disorder by the suddenness of the onslaught. Slashing and 
slaying, the French cut them down, pressing onward toward 
the advance guard of the English with the wagons and artillery. 
Sir John began to gallop toward the advance guard, but to 
the latter he seemed to be fleeing before the enemy. Panic 
seized them, and leaving the provisions and guns the troops 
broke and fled, utterly demoralized, on the road toward Patay. 
Talbot himself fought with desperation and rage, to be thus 
overcome a second time by a girl whom he believed to be a 
pernicious witch, but was finally taken prisoner by Poton Zain- 
trailles, while his men fled and were killed in their flight. 
Fastolf turned back to the field, hoping to die there or be cap- 
tured, but his escort dragged him off, and at length he too rode 
off toward Paris. His men were cut down at the will of the 
victors. 

The Battle of Patay was won. 

But it was a bloody field, for slaughter of fugitives who were 

[261 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

not valuable followed. Jeanne had never seen such a massacre, 
and "she had great compassion on the victims." Meeting a 
Frenchman who was brutally using a prisoner she flung herself 
from her horse, indignant that he should be subjected to such 
treatment, and seating herself beside him lifted his bleeding 
head upon her lap. Sending for a priest that he might have the 
last comforts of religion she comforted him with womanly ten- 
derness until he died. 

Jeanne wanted the English out of France. She fought them 
that she might achieve that end. She had steeled herself to the 
necessity of war, but pity was always enthroned in her heart. 
A wounded enemy appealed to her tenderness as much as one of 
her own countrymen would have done. 

And so ended a great week of wonders. Between June 
eleventh and eighteenth the Maid had delivered three strong 
towns from the English, and routed them in open field. All 
the Loire and the waterway was now in the power of France. 
But it was not Alencon, nor Dunois, nor the French generals 
who had secured the victories. It was the dauntless girl, the 
peasant maid in whom was more of the divine than human — 
she who after a scarce month of war bore herself like the "most 
skilled captain in the world who all his life has been trained to 
war" 1 — this girl of seventeen who bade fair to be the best 
soldier of them all. 

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1 - 



CHAPTER XXII 

The Culmination 

"Along this square she moved, sweet Joan of Arc,- 

With face more pallid than a day-lit star 
Half-seen, half-doubted; while before her, dark 
Stretched the array of war." 

Maria Lowell. 



THE next day, which was Sunday, Jeanne and her men 
returned to Orleans in triumph, and were "nobly 
received." The streets were crowded with people who 
were wild with joy at sight of the Maid, and who gave her a 
tempestuous welcome. They formed processions and went to 
the churches, where "they thanked God and the Virgin Mary 
and the Blessed Saints of Paradise for the mercy and honor 
which Our Lord had shown to the King and to them all, and 
saying that without the Maid such marvels could not have been 
done." 

To all parts of France the news of the victory of Patay was 
carried with incredible quickness, and everywhere the loyal 
towns celebrated the event by singing Te Deums, by proces- 

[ 263 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

sions and prayers, by bonfires and by bell ringings. But the 
tidings that brought such rejoicing to the hearts of the French, 
caused consternation among the partisans of Burgundy and 
England. On Tuesday when Sir John Fastolf and other fugi- 
tives brought the story of the disaster of Patay into Paris, there 
was a riot, and many believed that the victorious French were 
coming at once to attack the city. Had this been true the 
town must have fallen, for the English troops were thoroughly 
demoralized. Bank and file were filled with superstitious ter- 
ror of the Armagnac Witch, and the Duke of Bedford was at 
the end of his resources. 

In Orleans the exultation was greatest, for Jeanne was 
counted their Maid, and the people expected that their King 
would come to greet her and start for his crowning from that 
city. Consequently the burghers decorated the streets and 
prepared to give him royal welcome, but he did not come. He 
was at Sully being entertained by La Tremouille, frittering 
away his time in pleasure while a girl fought his battles for him. 
Jeanne, therefore, after a few days of rest left Orleans to join 
him and to urge his instant departure for Beims. She met 
him at St, Benoit-sur-Loire on his way to Chateauneuf. 
Charles was exceedingly gracious, showering her with praise. 

"Wonderfully you have wrought, Jeanne," he said. 
"Greatly have you earned our gratitude. What guerdon shall 
be yours for these amazing labors?" 

"Sire, that you will start at once for Reims to be crowned is 
all that I desire." 

"We will go, dear Maid. We promise you, but now you 
must rest. Greatly have you endeared yourself to us, and 

[264] 



THE CULMINATION 

above all we desire your welfare. Therefore, rest from these 
labors to please your King." 

Now Jeanne had just taken three fortified towns, and had 
cut a great army to pieces. In smaller towns and fortresses 
the citizens had risen and driven their English garrisons out 
of the gates upon receipt of the news of Patay, so the golden 
lilies floated over the cleared country of the Beauce nearly to 
Paris. She had done all this that the Dauphin might safely 
march to Reims. She had been told that if the Loire were 
cleared the march would be begun, and now he wished further 
delay. It was too much for the girl, who longed so ardently to 
complete her mission, for she knew that her time was short, 
and she burst into tears. 

"Jeanne, ma mie, what is it?" asked the monarch, disturbed 
by her emotion. 

"Ah, gentle Dauphin," she said brokenly, "you are not King 
until the sacred oil shall anoint you. Doubt no longer, but 
come to your sacring. The whole realm shall be yours when 
you are consecrated. 

"We will go, beloved Maid, and that right soon. But you? 
Is there not some gift or boon that you wish other than this?" 

"Sire, forgive the Comte de Richemont, and receive him 
again at Court, I beseech you. Great aid did he give us at 
Beaugency, and at Patay. For the sake of France, Sire, grant 
this favor." 

But Charles shook his head. At this moment Alencon and 
Dunois drew near and added their pleas to Jeanne's that the 
Constable should be forgiven, but the King was obdurate. So 
Richemont, who had helped to administer the greatest blow to 

[265] 



JOAN OF ARC 

English domination that had ever been given, was rejected 
once more. He had remained at Beaugency to await the result 
of the embassies, and had even sent two of his own gentlemen 
to La Tremouille to plead that he might be allowed to serve 
the King in the state of the country. But all his overtures were 
refused, so he withdrew to his own estates, and Charles lost a 
good soldier. 

And Jeanne, to her amazement, for she had given every sign 
required of her, found herself opposed by almost incredible dif- 
ficulties. The King was plainly reluctant to act, and seemed 
, averse to taking a decided step of any kind. From every 
point of view the march to Reims and the accomplishment of the 
great object of her mission was the wisest and most practicable 
thing to do. But there were delays and parleyings. Had the 
maiden not been sustained by her Voices and her duty to her 
country she would have been discouraged. 

But all France was rousing, and was beginning to call upon 
the King in no uncertain tones. It was said that the Maid 
would lead the Dauphin to his crowning if she were allowed; 
that after the deeds she had wrought she should be given the 
opportunity. La Tremouille recognized a dangerous note in 
the general talk, and a Council of War was held in which it was 
decided to risk an advance. Gien was chosen as the base for 
the army, and Jeanne went to Orleans to bring up the troops 
and munitions that were left in that city. 

"Sound the trumpet, and mount," she said to Alencon on the 
twenty-fourth of June. "It is time to go to the noble Charles 
and start him on his way to be consecrated." 

Which was easier said than done. There were many of the 

[266 ] 



THE CULMINATION 

Councillors who wished to besiege La Charite and other small 
towns on the upper Loire, which would have profited nothing; 
still others were for a bold move into Normandy to attack the 
English at Rouen, where they were strongest. But Jeanne 
insisted that the Dauphin should march to Reims. Her Voices 
had told her to take him there to be crowned that the people 
might know that he was the true King, and to the maiden, sub- 
lime in her faith, that was the thing to do. 

It was objected that there were many cities and walled towns 
and strongholds well guarded by English and Burgundians in 
the way, but she answered : 

"I know it well, and all that I hold as naught." 
Worn out finally by the futile arguments and the wasting of 
so much precious time, when all hope lay in a quick advance 
against the enemy before Bedford could bring over new troops 
from England, Jeanne left the Court, and went to her army 
which lay in the fields near Gien. There was comfort there, 
for the soldiers declared that they would go wherever she 
wished to lead them. There were princes of the blood among 
the men ; great lords, and knights, and squires of high and low 
degree. They had come from all parts of loyal France bring- 
ing their companies, eager to serve, for the "great hope of the 
good that should come to the country through Jeanne, and they 
earnestly desired to serve under her, and to learn her deeds, as 
if the matter were God's doings." There was little or no pay 
for the men, but enthusiasm took the place of money. Jeanne's 
exploits had made her a personage, and not only France but all 
Europe was rife with curiosity concerning her, and her deeds. 
Many were attracted to the army by her fame, and it was said, 

[267] 



JOAN OF ARC 

though not openly, for no man was bold enough to speak against 
La Tremouille at this time, that if the Favorite would permit it 
an army large enough to drive every Englishman out of 
France could be raised. 

On Monday, the twenty-seventh of June, Jeanne crossed the 
River Loire with part of the army, and on Wednesday the 
King and his Councillors reluctantly followed her. The 
march upon Reims had at last begun. 

Fifty miles to the eastward of Gien was the town of Auxerre. 
It was under Burgundian allegiance, and if it admitted the 
Dauphin had good reason to fear Burgundy. So its gates 
were closed upon the approach of the King and his army. 
Jeanne and the captains wished to attack it at once, but the 
town sold food to the troops and sent bribes to La Tremouille 
to exempt it from assault. The bribes were accepted, though a 
mere military demonstration would have opened its gates, and 
the army passed on, the town giving some sort of a promise to 
submit if Troyes, and Chalons, and Reims should acknowledge 
the King. Other smaller strongholds on the road yielded upon 
being summoned, and presently Charles and his army were 
before Troyes. 

It was the capital of Champagne, about forty miles to the 
northeast of Auxerre. The whole province was greatly excited 
by the advance of the royal forces, and those who held for the 
English were much alarmed. The cities were not sure of each 
other, and each feared to be either the last or the first to open 
its gates to the King. 

So, during the march toward it, Troyes sent letters to Reims 

[268] 



THE CULMINATION 

saying that it had heard that the latter would submit to the 
Dauphin, but that its own citizens would do nothing of the sort, 
but would uphold the cause of King Henry and the Duke of 
Bedford even to the death inclusive. 

Now Troyes had reasons for taking this bold stand. It was 
the place where the treaty which had given France to England 
had been signed; where the French princess, Catherine, was 
married to Henry Fifth of England, and where the Dauphin 
was disinherited by his mother. The burghers had arrayed 
themselves with the Burgundians and the English after the 
treaty, and feared now that if Charles were admitted to their 
city he would wreak vengeance upon them. 

Charles stopped at Saint Phal, within fifteen miles of Troyes, 
from which place both he and Jeanne sent the burghers letters. 
The King demanded that they should render the obedience they 
owed him, and he would make no difficulty about things past for 
which they might fear that he should take vengeance ; that was 
not his will, but that they should govern themselves toward their 
sovereign as they ought, and he would forget all and hold them 
in good grace. 

Jeanne's letter was to the people, in which she summoned 
them to their allegiance in the name of the Sovereign Lord 
of all. They must recognize their rightful Lord who was 
moving on Paris by way of Reims, with the aid of King Jesus, 
she said. If they did not yield the Dauphin none the less would 
enter the city. 

The letters were received at Troyes on the morning of the 
fifth of July, and copies were at once sent to Reims with assur- 

[269] 



JOAN OF ARC 

ances that the city would hold out to the death, and begging the 
men of Reims to send at once to Burgundy and Bedford for 
assistance. 

The royal army meantime camped before the walls for several 
days, hoping that the town would surrender. There were a 
few sallies which resulted in nothing of importance. The 
burghers held off, expecting the same terms would be given them 
that were granted Auxerre. After nearly a week the supplies 
of the besiegers began to get low. The Dauphin could not 
provision his troops at Troyes, and Gien, his base of supplies, 
was thirty leagues away. He could not pass on to Reims and 
leave the town in his rear, for so strongly garrisoned a place 
would be a menace, and the state of the army was becoming 
seriously grave. So Charles called a Council to consider what 
were best to be done, but Jeanne was not asked to attend. 

Regnault Chartres, Archbishop of Reims, was for retreating, 
and a number of Councillors were against assaulting the city. 
One after another they gave their opinions, some arguing that 
if they did not retreat it would be best to leave the hostile 
fortress in their rear and press on towards Reims. When it 
came the turn of Robert le Macon, the old Chancellor of 
Charles VI, he said that the march had been undertaken in 
reliance neither upon the number of their troops nor upon the 
richness of their treasury, but because the Maid advised them 
that such was the will of God. He suggested, therefore, that 
she be called to the Council. At this moment Jeanne, becom- 
ing impatient over the long debate, knocked at the door. She 
was at once admitted, and the Archbishop of Reims took it upon 
himself to explain: 

[270 ] 



THE CULMINATION 

"Jeanne," said he, "the King and his Council are in great 
perplexity to know what they shall do." 

"Shall I be believed if I speak?" asked the maiden, who was 
learning from experience that even messages from Heaven may 
be set aside by the will of man. 

"I can not tell," replied the King, to whom she addressed 
herself; "though if you say things that are reasonable and 
profitable I shall certainly believe you." 

"Shall I be believed?" she asked again. 

"Yes," said the King, "according as you speak." 

"Noble Dauphin, order your people to assault the city of 
Troyes, and hold no more of these Councils ; for in God's name, 
before three days I will bring you into Troyes, by favor or 
force, and false Burgundy shall be greatly amazed." 

"Jeanne," said the Chancellor, "we might well wait if you 
could do that in six days." 

"Doubt it not," spoke Jeanne, addressing the Dauphin only. 
"You shall be master of the place, not in six days but to-mor- 
row." 

The Council broke up, and Jeanne began at once to make 
preparations for storming the place. The whole army was 
set to work during the night, nobles and men-at-arms alike, 
to collect any kind of material, faggots, palings, tables, even 
doors and windows — anything that could be used to shelter the 
men, mount the guns, and fill up the fosse. She worked hard 
all night, and the unusual commotion gave notice to the towns- 
folk that something out of the ordinary was being done, and 
they retired to the churches to pray. In the morning they saw 
that arrangements had been made to assault the place, and heard 

[271 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

the Maid's voice order the attack to begin. At this great fear 
of her came upon them, and they had no heart to man battle- 
ment or tower. Whereupon the Bishop of the town and the 
citizens threw the gates open and made submission without 
firing a shot, sending a committee to Charles to treat for terms 
of peace. The King received the envoys graciously, and guar- 
anteed all the rights of Troyes, promising that the garrison 
might depart with their arms and goods, providing the town 
were given up to him. 

Jeanne of course was obliged to acquiesce in the terms that 
her King made, but she was suspicious of the good faith of the 
Burgundian garrison, and so stationed herself at the gate to 
see them march out. She had been up all night "laboring with 
a diligence that not two or three most experienced and re- 
nowned captains could have shown," 1 and she was weary, but 
she would not retire to her tent until she knew how the garrison 
complied with the conditions. Her suspicions proved to be well 
founded. 

After a time the English and Burgundian soldiers came 
marching through the gates with their horses and armour, and 
their property, — property which proved to be French prison- 
ers. There they walked, a band of men previously taken, each 
one representing so much money in ransom. The poor fellows 
cast appealing, piteous glances at their victorious fellow coun- 
trymen as they passed. Jeanne uttered an exclamation, and 
stopped the march. 

"In God's name," she cried, "they shall not have them." 

But some of the captains explained to her that under the 

i Dunois. 

[272] 



THE CULMINATION 

terms of the capitulation the prisoners were property, and the 
soldiers were justified in taking them away, though it had not 
occurred to the King or his Councillors that any such thing 
would happen when the terms were given. But the Maid 
would not hear of letting the Frenchmen be carried away. 

"They shall not have them," she said again. "The thing 
would be monstrous. I will see the Dauphin." 

Which she did at once, and to such good purpose that the 
monarch was obliged to ransom the men from their captors, 
paying for each one a reasonable sum. French prisoners had 
been too plentiful in the wars to be worth much. 

Troyes was full of doubt, terror and ill-will toward the Maid, 
and Jeanne felt it plainly when she entered the town to prepare 
for the reception of the King. At Orleans, at Blois, at Tours, 
at Gien, at all other places where she had been the people 
thronged about her with enthusiasm. Here they regarded her 
as a sorceress, and sent a certain Friar Richard to confront 
her. Friar Richard was a Franciscan who had created a great 
stir in Paris and Champagne by preaching fervid, emotional 
sermons, warning people of the coming of Anti-Christ, and 
urging them to forsake their sins, and to prepare for eternity. 
As he drew near to the Maid, he crossed himself devoutly, mak- 
ing the sign of the cross in the air, and sprinkling holy water 
before him to exorcise the evil spirit in the girl. Brother 
Richard was devout, but he wasn't going to run any risk. 
Jeanne laughed gayly. She had become accustomed to being 
thought possessed. 

"Come on boldly," she cried. "I shall not fly away." 

Upon this the good man fell upon his knees before her, and 

[273] 



JOAN OF ARC 

the Maid, to show that she was no holier than he, knelt also. 
They had some conversation together, and thereafter the friar 
was one of her most devoted adherents. 

The day after the surrender Charles entered the city in 
splendor, and went at once to the cathedral, where he received 
the oaths of loyalty of the burghers. The day following the 
troops marched on to Chalons, but met with no resistance. All 
opposition to the King's advance had collapsed, and eagerly the 
towns opened their gates to him. After all, he was French, 
and it was natural for Frenchmen to turn to their rightful King 
and believe in him in spite of the English. And so with ever 
increasing army Charles marched in triumph towards Reims. 

Chalons, Troyes, and other places that had made submission 
wrote to Reims immediately advising that town to do likewise 
as Charles was a "sweet, gracious, pitiful and compassionate 
prince, of noble demeanor and high understanding, and had 
shown clearly and prudently the reasons for which he had 
come to them." 

Reims laughed the messages to scorn, and vowed to resist 
to the death. They had recalled the captain of their garrison, 
who was at Chateau-Thierry, but they limited his escort to fifty 
horsemen, for which reason the captain very properly declined 
to come, saying that he could not attempt to hold the city with 
fewer than three hundred men. So when Charles reached 
Sept-Saulx, a fortress within four leagues of Reims, it sent out 
representatives to him to offer its full and entire obedience, in 
token of which the envoys presented the King with the keys of 
the city. 

It was finished. The march to Reims, which has been called 

[274] 



THE CULMINATION 

"The Bloodless March," was ended. The wonderful and vic- 
torious campaign with all its lists of towns taken had lasted but 
six weeks, almost every day of which was distinguished by some 
victory. The King and his Councillors had been fearful of 
the result, but the Maid had carried them through in triumph. 
Every promise which she had made had been fulfilled. There 
was nothing now between Charles, the discredited Dauphin of 
three months agone, and the sacred ceremonial which drew 
with it every "tradition and assurance of an ancient and lawful 
throne." Some time later when the Regent wished to make the 
same march with young Henry of England to crown him at 
Reims the Duke of Burgundy advised against the attempt, 
stating that it was too difficult and perilous to imitate. 

On the morning of Saturday, July sixteenth, the Archbishop, 
Regnault de Chartres, who had been kept out of his city by the 
Burgundians, entered it to make preparations to receive his 
royal master. In the afternoon the King, with Jeanne riding 
by his side, his Councillors, the princes and nobles, the captains, 
and a great train of soldiers, and citizens of neighboring places 
entered in state. The streets were thronged with people who 
cheered lustily at sight of the monarch, crying "Noel ! Noel !" % 
but who struggled and shouldered each other in the natural 
curiosity to catch glimpses of the wonderful Maid with her 
shining armour and fair sweet face. 

The King, the Maid, and the heads of the expedition were to 
be lodged in the palace of the Archbishop, which was near the 
great cathedral, but as the procession made its way thither 
Jeanne uttered a cry of joy; for, gazing at her half fearfully 

iNoel — an exclamation of joyful acclamation. 

[275] 



JOAN OF ARC 

from the crowd were her father, Jacques D'Arc, and her uncle, 
Durand Lassois. The King turned to her. 

"What is it, ma mie?" he asked. 

"My father, my dear father, is standing there among the 
people," she cried, waving her hand at the two rustics. "And 
with him stands my uncle, Durand Lassois : he who took me to 
Vaucouleurs, you remember?" 

"I remember, Jeanne. We must see and speak with them 
both," said the monarch graciously. "Bring them to us later." 

With another wave of her hand at the two the maiden 
passed on. In the evening Charles was led to a platform which 
had been erected before the cathedral, and there, amid the red 
glare of bonfires, flaming torches, the ringing of bells and the 
acclaiming shouts of the assembled people he was shown to the 
multitude by the peers of France, with the traditional procla- 
mation : x 

"Here is your King whom we, peers of France, crown as 
King and Sovereign Lord. And if there is a soul here who has 
any objection to make, let him speak and we will answer him. 
And to-morrow he shall be consecrated by the grace of the Holy 
Spirit if you have nothing to say against it." 

But the people shouted, "Noel! Noel! Noel!" in a frenzy 
of delight, and so this preliminary ceremony was concluded. 
There was feasting in the palace of the Archbishop that night. 
But Jeanne slipped away from it all and made her way quickly 
to the little inn called The Zebra, in front of the cathedral, 
which was kept by Alice Moreau, a widow, where she would 
find her father and uncle. To her delight her brothers had 

iM. Blaze de Bury. 

[276] 



THE CULMINATION 

come hither also, and when Jeanne entered Jacques was stand- 
ing with an arm around each, his usually undemonstrative face 
beaming with gladness, for they had been telling him of Jeanne 
and her exploits. He started toward her as she came through 
the door, then stopped suddenly and stood gazing at her with 
doubt and hesitation, but Jeanne flung herself upon him with 
the abandonment of a child. 

"Father!" she cried. "Dear, dear father! I did not hope 
for this. Oh ! how glad I am to see you." 

Jacques could not utter a word for a moment, but held her 
close, close as though he would never let her go. When at 
last he spoke it was with choked and trembling accents. 

"And do you forgive me, my little one? All the harshness 
and severity that I showed you? My child, I did not know, 
I did not understand — " 

Jeanne smiled at him through her tears. 

"How could you understand, father? I did not either for a 
long time. But it is over now. My mission will be ended to- 
morrow when the Dauphin is crowned. And then I am going 
back home with you to mother. Dear mother! how is she?" 

"Well, Jeanne ; but longs for you always." 

"And I for her," said Jeanne, tearfully. "I shall never 
leave you again, father. I shall be glad to get back." 

At this Durand interposed: 

"You won't be contented there, Jeanne. Just think how set 
you were to get away. And now you have done everything 
you wanted to do. And it was I that helped you to do it." 

"Yes, Uncle Durand; and the King wishes to see you to 
thank you for it." 

[277] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"The King?" exclaimed Lassois, almost dumbfounded by 
this news. "Why, Jeanne, you don't mean that he wants to 
see me?" 

"Yes, I do," said Jeanne, laughing. "He says that by help- 
ing me to go to Messire Robert you have done more for the 
country than any other man in France." 

Durand could scarcely contain himself at this, and beamed 
delightedly. Presently he said, wistfully : 

"Don't you ever get afraid in battle, Jeanne? I heard that 
you were wounded once. I should think that you would be so 
afraid that you'd run away as soon as the guns began to shoot 
and the arrows to fly." 

"I do not fear wounds or battle," she told him. "I fear only 
— treachery ;" and a shadow crossed her face. 

It was a happy family party there at the little inn. There 
was wonder and admiration in the regard which the simple 
peasants bestowed upon the maiden, but there was love also, 
and the weary girl, longing for home and rest since her mission 
was so nearly completed, gave herself up to its blessed consola- 
tion. Far into the night she talked, and then she left them; 
for the morrow would bring the coronation, and there was much 
to be done. 

It was the tradition that coronations should take place on 
Sunday, so that there was little sleep in Reims that night. 
Everything had to be prepared; decorations for the cathedral 
and town, and provisions for the ceremonial. Many of the 
necessary articles were at Saint Denis, in the hands of the 
English, and the treasury of the cathedral had to be ransacked 
to find fitting vessels. All night the work of preparation went 

[278] 



THE CULMINATION 

on. And all night long rejoicing crowds filled the streets and 
the great square before the cathedral, where the Dauphin kept 
vigil, as was the custom of the Sovereign the night before 
his coronation. 

At dawn of day the town began to fill with visitors, great 
personages and small ones, to attend the rites, and to render 
homage. All France seemed to pour into the place; for the 
people were to have their rightful king, and French hearts were 
joyful. It mattered not after this who should be crowned— 
Henry of England, or another— there would be but one King 
of France, Charles the Seventh, he who was anointed with the 
sacred oil in the city of Reims, where all kings of France had 
been crowned since the time of Clovis. Charles had been 
crowned after a fashion at Bourges, but in the eyes of the na- 
tion he was not King until the oil from the mystic ampoule 
brought down from Heaven by a dove to Saint Remi was 
poured upon his brow. Jeanne, a daughter of the people, un- 
derstood this better than the politicians who tried to thwart her 
design of leading Charles to his sacring, deeming it a piece of 
childish folly. After the crowning, when the increased prestige 
and loyalty which it brought to Charles was seen, its signifi- 
cance was understood not only by the politicians but by the 
Regent Bedford. It was a decided advantage which this girl 
of the people gained over the English claimant by her quick- 
ness in taking the Dauphin to be crowned. 

The ceremonies were to begin at nine o'clock, Sunday morn- 
ing, July the seventeenth, and long before that hour the ancient 
cathedral was filled to overflowing with nobles and men-at- 
arms, and dignitaries both civic and ecclesiastic, richly and 

[279] 



JOAN OF ARC 

gayly attired in gorgeous stuffs : cloth of gold, cloth of silver* 
brocades of crimson and azure, and silks dyed in all the colors 
of the rainbow, mingled with sheen of glittering spears and 
shining armour: a brilliant gathering. Charles the Dauphin 
waited at the foot of the high altar, garbed in a robe of cerulean 
blue over which was scattered the golden fleur-de-lis. Out- 
side the cathedral the streets were thronged with people in 
holiday attire, wearing leaden medals which bore an effigy of 
Jeanne. After the coronation the King too had thirteen gold 
medals struck in honour of the Maid, which bore her device, a 
hand holding a sword, and the inscription, Consilio firmata Dei. 
(Strong in the Counsel of God.) These and a vase of silver 
were among the gifts which he bestowed on the Chapter of 
Reims. 

Suddenly there was a blare of trumpets, and from the palace 
of the Archbishop there issued a wonderful procession. Four 
peers of France, — the Marechal de Boussac, Gravile, de Rais, 
Admiral de Culent, — armed and accoutred, and a great com- 
pany with banners floating rode through the streets to the old 
Abbey of St. Remi — which had been consecrated in the eleventh 
century — to bring from its shrine, where it was strictly guarded 
by the monks, the Sainte Ampoule, the holy and sacred vial 
which held the oil sent from Heaven for the sacring of Clovis. 
The noble messengers were the hostages of this sacred charge, 
and kneeling they bound themselves by an oath never to lose 
sight of it by day or night, till it was restored to its appointed 
guardians. 

This vow having been taken, the Abbot of St. Remi, in his 
richest robes, appeared surrounded by his monks, carrying the 

[280] 



THE CULMINATION 

treasure in his hands ; and under a splendid canopy, blazing in 
the sunshine with cloth of gold, marched toward the cathedral 
under escort of the noble hostages. Into the cathedral rode the 
cavalcade through the great west door. Their coming was 
proclaimed by chimes of bells, and blare of trumpets, and 
chanting of hymns until a mighty volume of sound rolled and 
swelled through the vaulted domes of the ancient building. 
Straight up to the entrance of the choir they rode, and there the 
Abbot gave over the sacred Chrism to the Archbishop. Then 
began the long and imposing ceremonies of the coronation. 
There were prayers, and anthems, and sermons, but at length 
the king-at-arms, standing upon the steps of the altar, called 
upon the twelve peers of France to come and serve their King. 
There were vacant places to be supplied, both among the tem- 
poral and the spiritual peers, but Alencon, Clermont, Ven- 
dome, Guy de Laval, La Tremouille and Maille filled them. 
Among the clerical peers the Archbishop of Reims, the Bishops 
of Chalons and Laon were present ; the others were supplied. 
In the absence of Richemont, the Constable of France, d' Albret 
held the Sword of State. D 'Alencon, in place of "false Bur- 
gundy," dubbed Charles a knight; then the Archbishop raised 
the holy flask and anointed the Dauphin upon the brow, upon 
his shoulders, within the joints of his arms and the palms of his 
hands, slits being cut and embroidered in his robe to this use. 
All was done according to ancient custom, the Dauphin kneel- 
ing the while. Administering the oath the Archbishop then 
took the crown and held it high above the monarch's head; the 
twelve peers of the realm, closing in, held it firm; then gently it 
was lowered upon the brows of the kneeling prince. 

[281 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Arise, Charles, King of France," cried the prelate in a loud 
voice. And, as Charles was lifted high in the throne chair by 
the peers that all might see, he cried again: "Behold your 
King!" 

As Charles the Seventh, King of France, faced his people a 
mighty shout of "Noel! Noel! Noel!" came from the assembly, 
while crash of chimes, chanting voices, and music of instru- 
ments rolled through the arches, until the vaulted heights 
answered again and again. 

Throughout the ceremony, close to Charles upon the steps of 
the altar stood Jeanne with her standard in her hand. "It had 
borne the burden, it should share the glory," she said after- 
wards. "And a right fair thing it was to see the goodly man- 
ners of the King and the Maid. She who was in truth the 
cause of the crowning of the King and of all the assembly." * 

Pale with emotion Jeanne had stood watching every step of 
the ceremonial with intentness. When at last it was ended she 
could control herself no longer. Stepping forward she fell at 
the feet of the newly crowned monarch, embracing his knees, 
and weeping for joy. 

"Gentle King, now is the pleasure of God fulfilled— whose 
will it was that I should raise the siege of Orleans, and lead 
you to this city of Reims to receive your consecration. Now 
has He shown that you are the true King, and that the kingdom 
of France belongs to you alone." 

Soft, and low, and broken came the words. They pierced 
all hearts, and "right great pity came upon all those who saw 
her, and many wept." * 

i Journal du Sifege. 

[282] 



THE CULMINATION 

Many wept. The girl was so young, so fair, so slight, yet 
what great deeds had she not wrought? In three months she 
had given France a king, and to the King, a country. In spite 
of obstacles that would seem incredible were they not a part of 
recorded history she had accomplished her mission. A great 
soul in which intense zeal was wedded to intense purpose had 
wrought marvels, and changed the destiny of a nation. 

Many wept, and the King too was moved. Perhaps at that 
moment he felt more gratitude towards the maiden than ever 
before or afterward. Lifting her, he said: 

"You have brought us to our crowning, beloved Maid. 
Speak, and whatsoever grace you ask it shall be granted." 
Again Jeanne fell upon her knees. 

"Most noble King, out of your grace I beseech you to grant 
that the taxes of my village be remitted. Its people are poor, 
and it brings great hardship upon them to pay." 
"Is that all, Jeanne?" 
"Yes, Sire." 

"Then in consideration of the great, high, notable, and profit- 
able service which this, our beloved Jeanne the Maid, has ren- 
dered and daily renders us in the recovery of our Kingdom, in 
her favour and at her request, we therefore decree that Dom- 
remy, the native village of Jeanne D'Arc, Deliverer of France, 
be forever exempt from taxation," 

Again the people shouted fervently. They recognized the 
justice of the grant, and wondered only that she asked so little. 
"Noel! Noel! Noel!" 1 
For centuries the privilege lasted, and against the names of 

i "Noel"— a word of acclaim— "hurrah !" 

[283] 



JOAN OF ARC 

Domremy and Greux, its adjoining village, in the tax gath- 
erer's book was written: 

"Domremy . . . Rein-La Pucelle," "Nothing — For the 
sake of the Maid." 

She had gained a kingdom, yet all she asked in return was 
that the taxes of her poor oppressed village might be remitted. 
She wished for nothing for herself. Not the least of the girl's 
great qualities was her unselfishness. 



[284] 




CHAPTER XXIII 

The Turning of the Tide 

"7/ France deserts her, and she fails, she is none the 
less inspired.^ 

Jean Gerson. 1429. 

THERE was feasting in Reims after the coronation. In 
the Archbishop's palace the King was served with the 
princes of the blood and the nobles. The tables 
stretched to the streets that the people might be served also ; all 
Reims ate, drank, and made merry. But Jeanne, always ex- 
ceedingly temperate in the matter of eating and drinking, soon 
slipped away from the festivities. She had other work on 
hand. 

There was a letter to be written to the Duke of Burgundy, 
the greatest peer of France. Philip, because of the blood feud 
between him and Charles, had cast his power and influence with 
Regent Bedford against his own countrymen. Jeanne had 
written to him before in June at the beginning of the march to 
Reims, summoning him to the crowning of the King, but had 
heard from neither letter nor herald. It was the maiden's 

[285] 



JOAN OF AUG 

belief that all Frenchmen should unite against the common 
enemy, laying aside private griefs that France might be served. 
She had no party feeling, and was possessed of a fund of com- 
mon sense which made her see what a powerful ally Philip of 
Burgundy would be. So now she wrote again, summoning him 
to renounce his feud with his cousin, the King, and thus to heal 
the breach which had divided the realm into two great parties. 

"JHESUS MARIA. 

"High and redoubtable Prince, Duke of Burgundy. 
Jeanne the Maid requires on the part of the King of Heaven, 
my most just sovereign and Lord, that the King of France and 
you make peace between yourselves, firm, strong, and that will 
endure. Pardon each other of good heart, entirely, as loyal 
Christians ought to do, and if you desire to fight let it be against 
the Saracens. Prince of Burgundy, I pray, supplicate, and 
require as humbly as may be, that you fight no longer against 
the holy kingdom of France: withdraw, at once and speedily, 
your people who are in any strongholds or fortresses of the 
said holy kingdom; and on the part of the gentle King of 
France, he is ready to make peace with you, having respect to 
his honor. All those who war against the said holy kingdom 
of France, war against King Jesus, King of Heaven, and of all 
the world and my just and sovereign Lord. And I pray and 
require with clasped hands that you fight not, nor make 
any battle against us, neither your friends nor your sub- 
jects. For however great in numbers may be the men you 
lead against us, you will never win, and it would be great pity 
for the battle and the blood that would be shed of those who 

[286] 



THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

came against us. Three weeks ago I sent you a letter by a 
herald that you should be present at the consecration of the 
King, which to-day, Sunday, the seventeenth of the present 
month of July, is done in the city of Reims: to which I have 
had no answer. To God I commend you, and may He be your 
guard if it pleases Him, and I pray God to make good peace. 
"Written at the aforesaid Reims, the seventeenth day of 
July, 1429. 

"Jeanne the Maid." 

So, her mission ended, the girl began to make preparations 
for her return home with her father. When she left Vaucou- 
leurs she had taken with her the red homespun dress that she 
had worn from home, and had always kept it with her. She 
brought it forth, and smoothed its folds tenderly. 

It was of coarse fabric unlike the brocades and satins of the 
knight's suits that she now wore, but Jeanne's eyes grew misty, 
and soft, and wistful as she fondled it ; the simple frock meant 
home and mother to her. Presently the members of the House- 
hold began to come in to take farewell, for all knew that she 
felt that her task was finished and that it was her intention to 
return to Domremy. But it was not to be. 

The next day Jeanne sought Charles and asked him of his 
graciousness to let her depart. Her mission was closed, she 
told him. She had done the two things that she was charged 
to do : the siege of Orleans was raised, and she had led him to his 
crowning. She wished now to go back home with her father, 
and of his goodness she begged him to let her depart. 

The monarch heard her with surprise. 

[287] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Go back now, Jeanne?" he exclaimed. "That cannot be. 
We need you." 

"Nay, gentle King. There is no further need of me. You 
are crowned, and the towns will receive you joyfully. What- 
ever of fighting there is to be done the men-at-arms can do." 

"Dear Maid, have you forgot Paris ? We are to march there 
from here, and who can lead the men-at-arms to the storming 
so well as you? You will inspire them, give them heart and 
courage, and frighten the enemy. We cannot do without you 
yet, Jeanne. We need you; the country needs you. Stay 
your departure for yet a little while we entreat — nay; we com- 
mand it, Jeanne." 

Her King and her country needed her. That was enough 
for the girl whose every heart beat was for France. So sorrow- 
fully she wended her way to The Zebra, the little inn where 
Jacques and Durand were stopping. 

"Father," she said sadly, as Jacques came forward to meet 
her, "I can not go home. I must continue with the army. 
It is the King's command." 

"Not go back, my little one?" exclaimed her father, his face 
clouding. "Why, Isabeau will be sore disappointed. She 
thought you would come after your work was done." 

"And I too, father, but the noble King commands me to stay. 
He hath need of me, he says. And France needs me." And, 
as she had done when she was a little child, Jeanne laid her head 
on her father's shoulder and cried like the homesick girl that 
she was. Her father comforted her tenderly. His own disap- 
pointment was great. 

"We went to see the King, Jeanne," spoke Durand suddenly. 

[ 288 ] 



THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

"He had us brought to him, and he was graciousness itself. 
I wonder not that you delight to serve him; so sweet and pitiful 

he is." 

"Oh, he is," exclaimed the maiden. "For know, father, that 
he has exempted both Domremy and Greux from the taxes." 

"Now that is good," cried Jacques delightedly. "That will 
be news indeed to carry back!" 

"And we each have a horse," Durand told her proudly. 
"And we are to have our keep for so long as we wish to stay 
in Reims. The town will have it so. And all because we are 
of kin to Jeanne D'Arc." 

Jeanne smiled at his pleasure. She too had gifts which she 
had bought to carry home herself. Now she gave them to 
her father to deliver with many a loving message, and then took 
a lingering farewell of them. Her heart was very full as she 
returned to the palace of the Archbishop, and once more took 
up her position as a general in the royal army. She never saw 
either her father or her uncle again. 

Jeanne supposed that it was the King's intention to march 
directly upon Paris the day after the coronation. To the 
surprise of every one Charles dallied at Reims for four days, 
and did not set forth from the town until the twenty-first of 
July. Then with banners flying the royal army rode from 
the gates with glad hearts and high hopes, Jeanne with her 
standard riding in front of the King. With the Maid leading 
them the troops believed themselves to be invincible. They 
were filled with confidence, for Paris once taken, the power 
of the English in northern France would be entirely broken. 
Both Burgundy and Bedford realized this fact to the full. 

[289] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Paris is the heart of the mystic body of the kingdom," wrote 
the former to the Regent in the Spring of 1430. "Only by 
liberating the heart can the body be made to flourish." What 
was true in 1430 was equally so in 1429. The right policy, 
therefore, was to advance at once and storm Paris. 

But the King stopped at the Abbey of Saint Marcoul and 
"touched for the King's Evil." 1 Nothing should have been 
allowed to waste time. It should have been Paris first, and 
then Saint Marcoul; for Bedford at this very time was march- 
ing from Calais with newly landed troops under Cardinal 
Beaufort. 

After Saint Marcoul Charles marched next to Vailly, and 
having received the keys of Soissons passed to that city. 
Everywhere he was received with acclamations, town after 
town yielding to him and the Maid. The army was now only 
sixty miles from Paris. Bedford had not reached the city, 
which had but a small garrison, and many of its citizens favored 
Charles. Only a vigorous advance was required to take it, 
and so end the war. At Soissons the King received the sub- 
mission of many towns, but there was nothing else done. 
When the army set forth again the King turned about and 
headed due south for Chateau- Thierry; after two days he pro- 
ceeded to Provins, which was reached on August second. 

This place was about sixty miles south of Soissons, and fifty 
miles southeast of Paris. With all his marching after ten 
days Charles was but ten miles nearer his objective point. 

The enthusiasm of the troops was dwindling. Jeanne and 
the captains viewed the effects of the vacillating manoeuvring 

i Scrofula. It was believed it could be cured bj the touch of a King. 

[ 290 ] 



THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

of the King with despair; for no one seemed to know what 
it all meant. The Maid at length sought Charles for an ex- 
planation. To her surprise she learned that ambassadors from 
Burgundy had come to Reims on the very day of the coronation, 
desiring a truce between the King and the Duke. The envoys 
had marched with them since then, for the belief was so strong 
that Paris should be taken that the King and his Councillors 
did not dare treat with them while feeling ran so high. Now, 
however, the envoys had succeeded in establishing a sort of 
truce by the terms of which Burgundy was to deliver up Paris 
to Charles at the end of a fortnight. 

"At the end of a fortnight," repeated Jeanne in dismay. 
"In God's name, gentle King, the regent will have time to 
bring his new troops into the town before the two weeks are 
sped. All the Duke of Burgundy wants is to gain time for 
the English regent." 

"Do you mean to reflect upon the honor of our cousin Bur- 
gundy?" demanded Charles haughtily. "His intentions to- 
ward us are most kind, we assure you, Jeanne. It is our dear- 
est wish to be at peace with him." 

"Make peace, Sire; but — " 

"But what, dear Maid?" 

"Make it at the point of the lance," she cried. "None other 
will be so lasting. A quick advance, Sire, and Paris is ours, 
and with it all France." 

"Would it not be best to take it without bloodshed?" he 
asked. "By your way much Christian blood must perforce be 
spilled. By this truce with our cousin the city will be ours 
peaceably. Is not that best?" 

[291] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"It may be," she agreed sorrowfully. 

There was no more to be said, so with heavy heart she went 
from the presence to report to the captains. Silently they 
heard her ; for none of them believed that Philip of Burgundy 
would ever deliver Paris to the King. So "turning first the 
flanks, then the rear of his army towards Paris, dragging with 
him the despairing Maid, the King headed for the Loire." 

Beyond that river lay pleasure and amusement ; time could 
be taken for ease and enjoyment, and the unworthy King de- 
sired them more than honor. In this he was encouraged by 
La Tremouille and his party. 

Reims, Soissons and other cities that had made submission 
were alarmed because the King was abandoning them to the 
mercy of Burgundy, and the men of Reims wrote to Jeanne 
telling her their fears. To which she made answer : 

"Dear good friends, good and loyal Frenchmen, the Maid 
sends you news of her. . . . Never will I abandon you while 
I live. True it is that the King has made a fifteen days' truce 
with the Duke of Burgundy, who is to give up to him the town 
of Paris peacefully on the fifteenth day. 

"Although the truce is made, I am not content, and am not 
certain that I will keep it. If I do it will be merely for the sake 
of the King's honor, and in case they do not deceive the blood 
royal, for I will keep the King's army together and in readi- 
ness, at the end of the fifteen days, if peace is not made." 

At Bray, where Charles expected to cross the Seine on his 
road to the Loire, he found a strong Anglo-Burgundian force 
in possession, so facing about he started toward Paris. Jeanne 
and the captains rejoiced openly, for they had no desire to 

[292] 



THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

cross the river, but wished only to keep near the capital until 
the truce was ended. 

The erratic marching and indecision of the royal Council 
and the King were ruining the spirit of the men-at-arms ; but 
the country people who knew naught of the parleying with 
Burgundy were wild with delight at the coming of Charles, 
and crowded to gaze upon him as he passed by. Jeanne was 
touched by their demonstrations of delight. 

"Here is a good people," she remarked one day, as she rode 
between Dunois and the Archbishop of Keims when the army 
was near Crepy. "Never have I seen any so glad of the com- 
ing of the noble King. I would that when I die I were so 
happy as to be buried in this country." 

"Jeanne, in what place do you expect to die?" asked the 
Archbishop, who had never been a friend of Jeanne's, and 
wished to draw some expression of prophecy from her that 
might be used against her. 

"When it shall please God," she made answer; "for I know 
no more of the time and place than you do. Would that it 
pleased God my Creator to let me depart at this time, and 
lay down my arms, and go to serve my father and mother in 
keeping their sheep with my brothers, for they would be very 
glad to see me." 

There was a note of sadness in the words. Even Jeanne's 
brave spirit was feeling the strain of the fluctuating, futile 
marchings. 

On August eleventh Charles lay at Crepy-en-Valois, where 
he received a letter from Bedford, who by this time had brought 
his troops near to Paris and now lay between that city and 

[293] 



JOAN OF ARC 

the French army. It was a brutally insulting letter, obviously 
written for the purpose of forcing the monarch to fight in the 
open field. It closed by challenging him to single combat, 
and with an appeal to the Almighty. Any man with an ounce 
of red blood in his veins would have accepted the challenge, and 
died gloriously, if needs be, in defense of his honor. Charles 
merely ignored the letter. It is said of him that at a later 
date he discovered great valour, taking the field in person 
against his enemies, and fighting in knightly fashion. It seems 
a pity that such gallantly was not in evidence at this period. 

On August fourteenth the armies of Charles and Bedford 
came face to face at Montepilloy. It was near evening, and 
after a skirmish they both encamped for the night. 

In the morning the royal army found Bedford entrenched 
in a strong position. His flanks and front were carefully pro- 
tected by earthworks and a stockade made of stout stakes 
carried by English archers for the purpose. Thrust deep into 
the ground, they would break the charge of cavalry, and were 
very formidable. In the rear was a lake and a stream, so that 
no attack could be made from that quarter. Over the host 
floated the banners of France and England. 

The French army formed in four divisions: the advance- 
guard, commanded by Alencon; the centre, commanded by 
Rene de Bar; the rear, with which were the King himself and 
La Tremoui'lle, was under Charles de Bourbon, and a large 
body of skirmishers under Jeanne, Dunois and La Hire. 

The position of Bedford was too strong to admit of a 
direct attack. He also had the advantage of a superiority in 
numbers, so the French tried to draw his forces from behind 

[294] 



THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

their barricades in the same manner that Talbot had tried to 
entice Jeanne to forsake the strong position which she had 
occupied on the height above Beaugency the night before Patay. 
But, though several times French knights, both on foot and 
on horseback, rode up to the palisade and so taunted the Eng- 
lish that some of them rushed out, the result was only skirmish- 
ing. The main body of the enemy stood firm. 

When Jeanne saw that they would not come out she rode, 
standard in hand, up to the palisade and struck it a ringing 
blow hoping to excite the enemy into action. For answer 
the English called, "Witch! Milkmaid! Go home to your 
cows. If we catch you we'll burn you." 

There were other names added, some of them vile and in- 
sulting. At the same time they waved in mocking defiance a 
standard copied from that of Jeanne's, showing a distaff and 
spindle, and bearing the motto: "Let the fair Maid come. 
We'll give her wool to spin." 

This roused the rage of the French, and thereafter no quarter 
was asked or given in the skirmishes that ensued when parties 
of the English sallied out in answer to the jibes and taunts of 
the French. But with all their endeavors the English were not 
to be stung into leaving their strong position. Later Alencon 
and the Maid sent a message that they would retire and give 
the English a fair field to deploy in, but they did not accept 
the offer. Bedford was not anxious for a chivalrous engage- 
ment in a fair field. 

In the afternoon the English captured a few field pieces 
which the French had brought up to enfilade the English line. 
So the long summer day passed, and when it grew dusk so 

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JOAN OF ARC 

that friend and foe could not be distinguished from each other 
the French retired to their quarters. The King left them, 
and retired to Crepy. 

Early the next morning the French withdrew, hoping that 
the English would follow them. But the Regent would not. 
As soon as he was clear of the French he retreated to Senlis 
and from there went to Paris. Of course the royal army should 
have followed him, but the triumphant spirit that filled the 
troops at Patay had been dissipated. The captains feared to 
move without the King's sanction, and, though Jeanne coun- 
selled the pursuit, they deemed it best to join the King at 
Crepy. 

Compiegne, Senlis, and Beauvais now made their submis- 
sion to the King and the Maid. Charles marched at once to 
Compiegne, fifty miles from Paris. At Beauvais those per- 
sons who refused to recognize Charles were driven out with 
their possessions. Among these was Pierre Cauchon, its 
Bishop. This man never forgave Jeanne for being the cause 
of his losing his diocese and his revenues, and later took a dire 
revenge upon her. 

Charles dallied at Compiegne, greatly to the distress of 
Jeanne, who knew the value of rapid movements. She saw 
too that the troops were losing heart. The King, however, was 
busy entangling himself with new truces with Burgundy, but 
of this the Maid at this time knew naught. She only knew 
that the fifteen days' truce was ended, and Paris had not been 
delivered to her King; that August was almost spent, and that 
nothing had been accomplished. She grieved at the monarch's 
shilly-shallying, and suspected that he was content with the 

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THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

grace God had given him without undertaking any further en- 
terprise. 

As the time passed without bringing action of any sort, or 
any promise of it, the girl's patience became thoroughly ex- 
hausted. She had only a year to work in, she had said, and 
France's King was wasting the time that should have been 
used for France. So one day she said to Alencon : 

"My fair duke, make ready the men, for by my staff, I wish 
to see Paris nearer than I have seen it yet." 

The words struck a responsive chord in Alencon's breast, 
and the captains gladly made ready for the march ; for all were 
weary of inaction, and discouraged by the irresolution of the 
King. 

On the twenty-third of August, therefore, the troops under 
Jeanne and Alencon set forth, making a short pause at Senlis 
so that the forces under the Count de Vendome might join 
them. It was hoped that, moved by their example, the King 
would be impelled to follow them with the main body of the 
army; the hope proved a futile one. After three days' march 
they rode into St. Denys, a town six miles from Paris, and the 
other sacred place of the realm. 

It was the city of the Martyr Saint whose name was the 
war cry of France. It was also the city of the tomb ; for, as 
Reims was the place where French kings were crowned, so St. 
Denys was the town where French kings were buried. From 
antiquity they had lain here in the great Abbey, where too was 
the crown of Charlemagne. There were also many sacred 
relics of the saints here, among them a head said to be that of 
Saint Denys. It was a sacred place to all French hearts. 

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JOAN OF ARC 

At their approach those people who were of Anglo-Burgun- 
dian opinions retired to Paris, terrified by the dark stories of 
vengeance with which the emissaries of Burgundy had be- 
guiled them, so that those who remained in the place were 
royalists. As she had often done of late Jeanne became god- 
mother for two little babies, holding them at the font. When 
the little ones were boys she gave them the name of the King; 
if they were girls, and the parents had no name for them, she 
called them Jeanne. 

There was further vexatious delay here in waiting for the 
coming of the King. It was a supreme moment in the affairs 
of the realm. All that had been gained in the summer was now 
to be either entirely lost, or fully perfected by this attack on 
the capital. Charles's presence was needed for the authority 
and approval that it gave, and, too, the main body of the 
army was necessary for the attack as the city was too strong 
to be assailed with what troops Alencon and Jeanne had with 
them. Courier after courier was sent to the King to urge his 
coming, and at length Alencon rode back to entreat his pres- 
ence. Reluctantly the monarch advanced to Senlis, and there 
stopped. "It seemed that he was advised against the Maid 
and the Due d' Alencon and their company." * 

Meantime Jeanne employed the time in skirmishing and 
reconnoissances, studying the city to find the best point for the 
onslaught. Alencon also sent letters to the burghers, calling 
the dignitaries by name, and asking them to surrender to their 
true Lord. 

The authorities in the city were not idle. They strengthened 

i Perceval De Cagny. 

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THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

the fortifications, and frightened the people by spreading stories 
of the dire vengeance that Charles had sworn to wreak against 
them. He would deliver the city and its people of all ages 
and conditions to the pleasure of his soldiers, it was said; and 
he had also sworn to raze it to its foundations so that the plough 
should break the ground where Paris had stood. Terrified by 
these tales the citizens feared to leave the gates to gather the 
grapes which grew on the slopes beyond the walls, or to get 
the vegetables from the great gardens which lay to the north 
of the city. 

Finally, after a fortnight, Charles arrived at Saint Denys, 
and his coming was hailed with delight. The army was 
wrought up to a high pitch of excitement, and was eager for 
assault. "There was no one of whatever condition who did not 
say, 'The Maid will lead the King into Paris if he will let 
her.' " * Charles himself was not so eager. In truth, the last 
thing in the world that he desired was this attack. 

In the afternoon of the day of his arrival Jeanne and the 
captains started toward the city walls to make the usual demon- 
stration. The King rode with them. 

Now at Blois, at Orleans, on the march to Reims the army of 
men was orderly, clean confessed and of holy life; but it was 
no longer what it had been. It is idleness that demoralizes and 
disorganizes men on the march or in camp. Action keeps them 
in trim, and in a righteous way of living. The personnel of the 
troops was no longer what it had been before Orleans. After 
the coronation men had flocked in from every quarter; soldiers 
of the robber companies, rude, foul, and disorderly. They 

iDe Cagny. 

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JOAN OF ARC 

revered the Maid for her saintly manner of life, but continued 
to practice their own vices, greatly to her distress. 

So now as the King and the Maid rode from the town toward 
the walls of the city one of the vile women who followed the 
camp thrust herself forward boldly from the crowd of people 
who had gathered to watch the passing of the monarch and the 
girl, and leered insolently at them. At this, all of Jeanne's 
youthful purity was roused to a blaze of indignation, and she 
brought up her sword quickly, and smote the creature a smart 
blow with the flat side of the weapon. 

"Get you gone," she cried sharply. 

Instantly at the touch of the unclean thing the blade parted 
in two. One piece fell to the ground, and Jeanne, stricken 
by the happening, sat gazing silently at what remained in her 
hand. 

" 'Tis the holy sword," exclaimed Charles, aghast. "Are 
there no cudgels to be had that you should use the sacred 
weapon? I like not the omen." 

Jeanne made no reply. She could not. All about her ran 
whispers and outcries as news of the incident flew from lip to 
lip. Soon the story was spread through the army. The Maid 
had broken the miraculous sword. It was a bad portent, and 
men shook their heads, saying that it boded ill for future enter- 
prise. The King sent the sword to his own armourers to be 
mended, "but they could not do it, nor put the pieces together 
again; which is great proof that the sword came to her 
divinely." * 

At a Council held later it was determined that an attack on 

i Jean Chartier. 

[300] 



THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

Paris should be made the next day, and thereupon the troops 
withdrew to La Chapelle, a village midway between St. Denys 
and Paris, and encamped there for the night. But the King 
remained at St. Denys. 

"I like not the day, gentle duke," said Jeanne protestingly 
to Alencon. "To-morrow is the Feast of the Nativity of the 
Blessed Mother of God. It is not meet to fight on such a day." 

"We must, Jeanne. We have been insistent that the as- 
sault should be made; and if we decline now La Tremouille 
will persuade the King that we are the cause of the delay." 

"True," agreed the maiden. "Well, we will make the at- 
tack, fair duke. After all, it is the duty of Frenchmen to fight 
the enemy whenever need arises, be the day what it may." 

Yet in spite of her words it was with reluctance that Jeanne 
prepared for the assault the next morning. It was the eighth 
of September, upon which day fell the Nativity of the Blessed 
Virgin, a great festival of the church. The church bells of La 
Chapelle were ringing as she rose, and faintly the bells of Paris 
and St. Denys tinkled an answer to the summons to the faith- 
ful. All the citizens of Paris would be at church, for no one 
would expect an attack upon such a day, and Jeanne would 
far rather have spent the time before the altar. She did not 
wish the assault, but yielded to Alencon and the captains. 

The troops made a late start, it being eight o'clock before 
they marched out of La Chapelle, and wended their way to- 
ward Paris. The morning was bright and beautiful, though 
unusually warm for the season. In the sunshine the towers 
and battlements of the city gleamed and glistened. It was a 
great city; far greater than Orleans, and a prize worth fighting 

[301] 



JOAN OF ARC 

for, but the chances of taking it had diminished by the dalliance 
of the King. 

The morning was entirely consumed in placing the ordnance, 
and getting ready for the assault. The point of attack was to 
be a place between the gates of St. Honore and St. Denys, 
which Jeanne was to lead with Rais and Gaucourt, while 
Alencon, placing his guns in the swine market near the gate, 
stationed his force behind the Windmill Hill which sloped 
above the market. This was done to guard the rear from a 
possible attack from a sally of the English from the St. Denys 
Gate. The main body of the army was posted as a reserve out 
of range. The King did not leave St. Denys. Charles was 
the only prince in Europe who did not lead his own army in the 
field. All was in readiness, when Jeanne learned to her great 
surprise that no serious assault was intended. It was to be an 
effort to cause tumult and surrender in the city. The Maid 
determined to force the fighting to an issue. 

At two o'clock in the afternoon the trumpet sounded the 
call, and the roar and rebound of cannon began, the artillery 
plying the boulevard or earthwork which protected the Gate of 
St. Honore. The palisade weakened; presently the pales fell 
with a crash, and the earthen wall of the boulevard stood be- 
yond. With a shout, "Mont-joie St. Denys!" the French 
rushed forward with scaling ladders, and began the escalade, 
their friends backing them by shooting of arbalests from behind 
the remnant of the palisade. By sheer impetuosity they car- 
ried the outpost, and poured over the walls pell-mell, driving its 
defenders before them back to the fortifications of the gate 
itself. 

[302] 



THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

All at once their furious advance was brought to a sudden 
check; for before them lay two wide deep ditches, one dry, the 
other full of water, which here guarded the walls of the gate. 
The archers and gunners on the ramparts above jeered mock- 
ingly at the halted French, and sent a rain of stones and arrows 
down at them, waving their banners, which mingled the leopards 
of England with the rampant two tailed lion of Burgundy. 

Jeanne was of course at the head of her men, and only for a 
moment did she permit them to pause before the set-back. 
Calling loudly for faggots and beams to bridge the moat she 
descended into the dry fosse, then climbed out again to the 
shelving ridge which divided the two trenches. Some of the 
men ran for the bundles of wood and bridging material, while 
the others followed her to the ridge. Dismay again seized them 
as the wide deep moat full to the brim with water stretched 
before them. But Jeanne was not daunted. Handing her 
standard to a man at her side, she took a lance and tested the 
water amid a shower of arrows and stones. 

"Surrender," she called to the men on the walls. "Sur- 
render to the King of France." 

"Witch! Evil One!" they shouted in answer. 

By this time the soldiers had brought bundles of wood, fag- 
gots, and whatever would help to fill the moat, Jeanne calling 
encouragingly to them the while. Presently they were enabled 
to struggle across, and the charge began. At this instant, as 
had been arranged, a great commotion was heard in the city, 
the loyalists running through the streets and shouting: "All 
is lost! The enemy has entered." It was hoped that this 
would help the King's troops without the gates. The people 

[ 303 ] - 



JOAN OF ARC 

in the churches, panic-stricken, rushed to their homes, shutting 
their doors behind them, but there was nothing gained. The 
garrison kept their heads, and their numbers at the gates and 
on the ramparts were increased. 

The firing now became very heavy; the artillery bellowed and 
the guns roared in answer. There were shouts of men, and 
words of order. And through the rattle of guns, the whizzing 
rush of stones, the smiting with axe or sword on wooden barrier 
and steel harness, the hundreds of war cries there sounded the 
wonderful, silvery tones of a girl's voice, clear as a clarion call: 

"On! On, friends! They are ours." 

On the shelving ridge between the two ditches stood the 
Maid, her white armour gleaming in the sunshine, a shining 
figure, exposed to every shot and missile. Hour after hour 
she stood, in the heat of the fire, shouting directions to her men, 
urging, cheering them while always the struggle raged around 
her, her banner floating over her head. Suddenly a mighty 
shout of joy went up from the men on the walls. Three times 
the roar rent the din of battle. For the Witch had fallen, 
pierced through the thigh by a bolt from a crossbow. 

Undismayed, Jeanne struggled to her feet, when the man 
at her side who bore her standard was hit in the foot. Lifting 
his visor to pull the arrow from the wound he was struck be- 
tween the eyes, and fell dead at the maiden's feet. Jeanne 
caught the standard as he fell, but for a moment her own 
strength failed her, and she sank beside the standard bearer. 
When her men would have borne her out of the battle she would 
not consent, but rallied them to the charge. Then slowly, pain- 

[304] 



THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

fully, she crept behind a heap of stones, and soon the dauntless 
voice rang out : 

"Friends! Friends! be of good cheer. On! On!" 
And so, wounded, weak, unable to stand she lay, urging 
the soldiers on, and on. There never was anything like it. 
Whence came that indomitable spirit and courage? "A 
Daughter of God" her voices called her, and truly was she so 
named. For who that had not kinship with the Divine could 
transcend the weakness of the flesh as did this girl of seven- 
teen? 

Fiercer grew the din, and fiercer. The heat became stifling. 
Hours passed, and the day waxed old. The sun set; twilight 
fell, and the dusk came. The shots were fewer and more scat- 
tering, and then they stopped. The two French captains had 
had enough for one day, for the attack had been confined to 
the forces under Jeanne, Rais and de Gaucourt, and the 
trumpet sounded the recall. But Jeanne did not heed, but 
kept crying her men on to the charge. She herself could not 
move to lead them, the supporting army was out of range, and 
the men would not go further without her. Gaucourt ordered 
his men to bring her out of the fire. Jeanne protested, but 
weeping she was carried back, set in the saddle and conveyed 
back to La Chapelle. Over and over she cried: 

"It could have been taken! It could have been taken!" 
Early the next morning in spite of her wound she went to 
Alencon, begging him to sound the trumpets and mount for 
the return to Paris. 

"Never will I leave," she declared, "until the city is taken." 

[305] 



JOAN OF ARC 

Alencon was of like mind, but some of the captains thought 
otherwise. Some of the troops were reluctant to assault again ; 
for there were whispers that the Maid had failed. That she 
had promised them to enter the city, and Paris had not been 
taken. They recalled the omen of the mystic sword, and shook 
their heads. They had forgotten that it took nearly a week to 
free Orleans from the siege, and Paris was a larger city. 
Jeanne had had but part of one day for the attack. While the 
captains were debating the advisability of renewing the as- 
sault a cavalcade of fifty or sixty gentlemen under the Baron 
de Montmorency, who had been a Burgundian for many years, 
rode up, and offered his services to the Maid. It was a joyful 
augury, and it was so encouraging that an immediate assault 
was planned. Just as they were setting forth two gentlemen 
arrived from St. Denys. They were Rene Due de Bar, and 
Charles de Bourbon, and they bore the King's orders that no 
further attack upon Paris should be made, and that the Maid 
with the other leaders must return at once to St. Denys. 

There was a storm of remonstrance and appeal, but the gen- 
tlemen were peremptory in their insistence. Such a command 
could not be disregarded, so with heavy hearts the entire force 
obeyed the summons. As they had expected that the attack 
would be renewed the following day the siege material had been 
left on the field, and there was not time to return for it. The 
King made no explanation when they reached St. Denys, and 
disconsolately the captains discussed the matter. 

Now Alencon had built a bridge across the Seine above 
Paris, expecting to make an onset upon the south as well as 
the north of the city, and Jeanne and he decided secretly to 

[306] 



THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

make a new effort in that direction. Accordingly they slipped 
away very early the next morning, which was September tenth, 
with a few chosen troops, and rode hastily to the place. The 
bridge was in ruins. It had been destroyed in the night; not 
by their enemies, but by the King. Sadly the two with their 
men rode back to the "City of the Tomb," which had become 
the grave of their hopes. 

Jeanne's heart was hot with disappointment and the thwart- 
ing of all her plans, and leaving Alencon she crept painfully to 
the chapel of the Abbey, and knelt for a long time before the 
image of the Virgin. After a time she rose, and slowly, awk- 
wardly, for she was without her squire, unbuckled her armour, 
and laid it piece by piece upon the altar, until at length the com- 
plete suit lay there. With a gesture of infinite yearning she 
stretched her hands over it. 

"To Saint Denys," she said with quivering lips. Turning 
she went slowly from the Abbey. 

Jeanne, the invincible Maid, had met her first defeat at the 
hands of her King. 



[307] 




CHAPTER XXIV 

Jeanne's Last Field 

U I fear naught but treachery." 

Jeanne's own words. 

"$aith each to other, 'Be near me still; 
We will die together, if God so will.' " 

John O'Hagan. "The Song of Roland" 

NO longer buoyed up by hope Jeanne began to feel her 
wound to faintness, and was compelled to seek her 
room for rest. As she lay on her bed, despondent and 
heavy-hearted, her Saints came to her with words of comfort. 
Daily they appeared, but since the crowning of Charles at 
Reims they had given the maiden no specific direction. There 
had been no further definite message. They had said, "Raise 
the siege of Orleans and lead the Dauphin to his crowning"; 
and she had done both things. Now they consoled the girl in 
her humiliation and sorrow, and uttered a message: 

"Remain at St. Denys, Daughter of God," they said. "Re- 
main at St. Denys." 

And Jeanne resolved to do so, but this was not allowed. 

[308] 



JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 

After a few days Charles announced his intention of return- 
ing to the Loire, and ordered the army to make ready for 
the march. And now the cause of the shameful treason at 
Paris was learned. There was a new treaty with Burgundy. 
Charles had signed it just before coming to St. Denys. La 
Tremouille and his party had triumphed, and an inglorious 
armistice which was to last until Christmas was the result. 
The position of the Favorite was becoming precarious under 
the great national feeling that was beginning to sweep the land, 
and his only safety from his foes was to keep his hold upon 
Charles. To this end the King was persuaded to consent to 
the abandonment of the campaign. Charles was not difficult 
to win over, for by so doing he would be left in peace to pursue 
his pleasures, and La Tremouille would be free to misrule 
France as he liked. 

The truce covered the whole of the country north of the 
Seine from Nogent, sixty miles above Paris, to the sea. While 
it lasted Charles might not receive the submission of any city 
or town, however desirous it might be to acknowledge him, 
although strangely enough he might attack Paris, while equally 
as strange, Burgundy might assist the Regent to defend it 
against him. Compiegne was to be given as hostage to Bur- 
gundy. The French hoped by giving him this city that he 
might be drawn from the English alliance. 

Compiegne, however, refused to be given, thereby showing 
more loyalty to the cause of France than did the poor stick of a 
King. Burgundy entered into the truce for his own purposes, 
playing France against England to increase his power at 
French expense. Philip was justified in seeking a truce, for 

[309] 



JOAN OF ARC 

many towns which had been Burgundian had thrown off such 
allegiance, and turned to Charles. He wished to prevent such 
desertions for the future. England might come into this peace 
at any time if she wished. This left England free to wage war 
against France, and the French could move against the Eng- 
lish, but not if any stronghold was held for the English by the 
Burgundians. It is difficult to see what France hoped to 
gain by such an armistice, though there were those among 
the Councillors who sincerely believed that from the arrange- 
ment a lasting peace might result both with Burgundy and the 
English. Later it was learned how Burgundy had beguiled 
them. Alencon and the captains denounced the truce bitterly. 

"If the King had taken Paris, he could have made his own 
terms with Philip," the young duke told Jeanne. 

"The noble King is deceived," said the girl sorrowfully. 
"There will be no peace with Burgundy for six years, and not 
until seven are sped shall the King enter his capital." 

"Jeanne, do you in truth know that?" questioned the young 
man quickly. "You speak as though you do." 

"I do know, gentle duke. My Voices have told me. Paris 
would have been ours had we but persisted in the attack, and 
in a few months northern France would have been clear of the 
English. Now it will take twenty years to drive them out." 

"Twenty years," repeated Alencon aghast. "Have your 
voices told you that also, Jeanne?" 

"Yes, fair duke. And the pity of it! Oh, the pity of it!" 

"The pity of it," he echoed. "For now we must start for 
the Loire, leaving all these cities and towns that have made 
submission to Charles to the mercies of the Regent. They 

[310] 



JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 

have written piteous letters to the King, entreating him not to 
abandon them, but he consoles them by telling them that he is 
withdrawing because he does not wish to strip the country to 
feed the army ; yet the English are left free to harry the towns, 
and their state will be worse than before they made submis- 
sion. We should not leave." 

"I shall not go," returned Jeanne quietly. "My Voices have 
told me to remain at St. Denys. I shall obey them." 

She reckoned without her host. When the King was ready 
to march he commanded her attendance. She refused to go. 
She had never disobeyed her Heavenly Guides, she told him, so 
she gave the King her duty, and begged of him to let her stay. 
Charles was not minded to do this, so he ordered that she be 
brought along. Jeanne's wound was not yet healed, and she 
was scarcely able to get about. So the helpless maiden was 
forced against her will to go with the King. 

It was a dreary march back to Gien, but it was made quickly. 
So eager was the King to return to his amusements that the 
one hundred and fifty miles' distance from St. Denys to Gien 
was traversed in eight days. When the city was reached 
Charles disbanded the army; so that of all the great number 
of men who had set forth from the place three months agone 
with banners flying nothing remained but the men of the King's 
body guard. Some were free lances from many lands, but 
for the most part they were French gentlemen who had served 
without pay for the love of France and the Maid. Jeanne took 
farewell of them with sadness: the brave Dunois, the bold La 
Hire, Poton Zaintrailles, Boussac, Culent, and others. The 
great army was never mustered again. 

[311] 



JOAN OF ARC 

Normandy, being an English possession, was exempt from 
the truce, so Alen9on prayed permission to lead troops against 
the English strongholds there, wishing also to take the Maid 
with him. "For many," he said, "would come with them for 
her sake who would not budge without her." 

But neither the King nor La Tremouille would grant the 
grace. They did not wish the ardent young prince to become 
a leader of the French against the enemy, and the Maid had 
become too much of a power to be lost sight of. So firmly and 
decidedly the project was dismissed, and he was relieved of his 
command. In disgust the young duke retired to his estates. 
He and Jeanne had grown to be great friends. He believed 
in her implicitly, and she was fond of him that he did so be- 
lieve ; and also because of his nobility of character, and his con- 
nection with the house of Orleans. It was the last time that 
they ever met. "And thus was broken the spirit of the Maid, 
and of the army." 1 

Jeanne pined in the days that followed ; for the Court drifted 
from castle to castle and from town to town in search of amuse- 
ment. Its frivolity and idle merrymaking were not to her lik- 
ing, but she was forced to follow in its train. She had her own 
Household, to which were now added women and maidens of 
rank, and everything which could show that she was one whom 
the King delighted to honor. The Queen came up from 
Bourges, and gave her a warm welcome. Rich apparel, gor- 
geous in coloring, was bestowed upon her, and, be it said to the 
credit of Charles, she was not stinted for money. The King 
was not ungrateful. He knew that it was almost impossible 

i Perceval De Cagny. 

[312] 



JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 

to estimate the moral effects of Jeanne's victories about Or- 
leans and upon the Loire. All Europe was filled with won- 
der, and sent eagerly to him for news of her. All this he knew, 
but he misjudged the girl, and tried to pay his debt to her by 
showering gifts upon her when she wanted only to fight for 
France. Pretty clothes and a life of ease might satisfy other 
girls, but not Jeanne D'Arc, who lived only for the welfare 
of the country. Had Charles but availed himself of her in- 
fluence, the splendid confidence of his soldiers, and the loyalty 
of the country people, treating with Burgundy after taking 
Paris, it is more than likely that the English power in France 
would have been broken in 1429 as quickly as it was twenty 
years later. 

There was one who recognized Jeanne's services to the 
French to the full: the English Regent, Bedford. Writing 
to England four years later he acknowledged that the gains 
France had made against England were due mainly to the 
"panic caused by the Maid, and the encouragement given by her 
to the French." Had Bedford been King of France he would 
have known how to use such a power. 

The leaders did not mind if Jeanne worked, but they were not 
desirous that there should be more individual triumphs. It 
threw their own treachery to the realm into strong relief, and 
made for their downfall. On the upper Loire were several 
strongholds which did not come under the truce with Burgundy, 
and these might be proceeded against with impunity. The 
strong town of La Charite was held by Perrinet Gressart, who 
had begun life as a mason but, war being the best trade, made 
a fine living out of the rich district of the upper Loire. He 

[313] 



JOAN OF ARC 

was in a measure under Philip of Burgundy, but when the 
duke pressed him too hard he threatened to sell out to the 
enemy, so that he was left in peace to pillage to his heart's con- 
tent. Early in his career this soldier of fortune had seized La 
Tremouille as he was passing through the Burgundian coun- 
try, and the rich favorite was allowed to proceed on his journey 
only at the price of a month's captivity and a heavy ransom. 

The little town of St. Pierre le Moustier, which stood about 
thirty-five miles above La Charite, was held by a Spanish Free 
Lance who had married a niece of Gressart. Its garrison 
waged a war of wastry, pillaging the peasants and the country 
far and wide, and holding all whom they could take to ransom. 
It was decided to launch an expedition against these strong- 
holds under Jeanne. If they fell it would satisfy the grudge 
that La Tremouille held for his captivity; if they did not fall 
there would be further loss of Jeanne's influence, and the favor- 
ite would be rid of a danger that was threatening his control 
of France. 

Jeanne preferred to go against Paris, but the capital was 
at this time under the government of Burgundy, who had been 
appointed lieutenant by Bedford, and therefore was within the 
truce. So, glad of any sort of a dash against the enemy, 
Jeanne went to Bourges to muster the men. The force was 
to be under d'Albret, a son-in-law of La Tremouille, a man not 
inclined to be friendly to the Maid. By the end of October 
all was in readiness, and it was decided to go against St. Pierre 
le Moustier before marching against La Charite. It was a 
strong little town with fosses, towers, and high walls some two 

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JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 

miles east of the River Allier, overlooking the fields which lay 
between the walls and the river. 

The town was plied by the artillery for several days, and 
after a breach was made Jeanne ordered an assault, herself 
leading with standard in hand. The men rushed to the walls, 
but were driven back ; the retreat sounded, and the troops were 
retiring from the point of attack when Jean D'Aulon, Jeanne's 
squire, being himself wounded in the heel and unable to stand 
or walk, saw the Maid standing almost alone near the walls. 
He dragged himself up as well as he could upon his horse, and 
galloped up to her, crying: 

"What are you doing here alone, Pucelle? Why do you not 
retreat with the others?" 

"Alone?" questioned Jeanne, raising the visor of her helmet 
and gazing at him with glowing eyes. "I am not alone. Fifty 
thousand of my people are about me. I will not leave until 
this town is mine." 

The squire looked about him in bewilderment, for there were 
not more than five men of her Household near her, yet there 
she stood waving her standard while the arrows and bolts from 
the town rained and whistled about her. 

"You are mistaken, Jeanne," he said. "I see not such a 
host. Come away, I beseech you. The troops are in full re- 
treat." 

"Look after the screens and faggots," ordered the Maid. 
Mystified, the worthy man did as he was bid, while the clear 
voice rang out the command: 

"To the bridge, every man of you." 

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JOAN OF ARC 

Back came the men on the run with planks and faggots, and 
so filling the moat returned to the assault, and the town was 
taken. D'Aulon watched the onslaught in wonder. 

"The deed is divine," he exclaimed in amazement. "Truly 
the will and the guidance of our Lord are with her, else how 
could so young a maid accomplish such a marvel." 

The town was taken, and the soldiers would have pillaged 
even the churches, but Jeanne, remembering Jargeau, firmly 
forbade it, and nothing was stolen. 

Then the Maid and d'Albret proceeded to Moulins, an im- 
portant town further up the river in the Bourbonnais, whence 
they sent letters to the loyal towns requiring munitions for 
the attack on La Charite. It was to the interest of the neigh- 
boring towns that this place should be cleared away, for the 
garrison was a plague to the surrounding country, but only a 
few of them responded to the appeal for money and supplies. 
Orleans, generous as always, sent money, gunners, artillery and 
warm clothing, but the army was ill-equipped for the siege. 
Jeanne moved her forces before the strong town and settled 
down for the siege, but the King neither forwarded money nor 
supplies. Riom promised money, but that was the end of it. 
Left without the munitions necessary, her army ill-fed, ill- 
clothed against the bitter November weather, Jeanne wrote 
to the citizens of Bourges an urgent appeal. "The troops must 
have help," she said, "else the siege must be abandoned, which 
would be a great misfortune to your city and to all the country 
of Berri." 

Bourges voted to send the money, but it was never received. 
Vigorously the troops pummelled the strong town with what 

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JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 

artillery they had, but a siege can not be prosecuted without 
provisions and other supplies, and the King left them to get 
along without any support. The men naturally became discon- 
tented. A month was wasted in artillery play, and an assault 
resulted only in loss of men. In great displeasure Jeanne 
raised the siege. She could inspire men to fight as they never 
fought before, but she could not work miracles. God would 
give the victory to those who helped themselves. Hungry, 
cold, disheartened troops could not fight without munitions and 
provisions. So they were disbanded, and retreated from the 
town, leaving some of their artillery on the field. 

Thus ended the fighting for the year 1429, and sadly the 
Maid returned to the Court. In spite of unbelief and opposi- 
tion she had accomplished incredible deeds since her setting 
forth from Vaucouleurs, and would have done them again had 
she not been hampered by the King and his Council. 

Charles was at his beautiful Chateau at Mehun-sur-Yevre, 
where Jeanne joined him. She was overcast and sorrowful at 
the failure of the siege of La Charite. She had wished to go 
into the Isle of France to help the people of the loyal towns 
there, whose state was pitiful, but had been sent on the unsuc- 
cessful expedition instead. Invaders and robbers alike were 
made bold by the withdrawal of Charles from northern France ; 
and the English were active, forcing exile or death on the de- 
fenseless people, who would not forswear their loyalty. Many 
villages were forsaken, the inhabitants having been driven into 
other parts of France. There was pestilence and famine every- 
where. In Paris wolves prowled openly, and its citizens died 
by hundreds. Paris, the beautiful city of covered bridges, 

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JOAN OF ARC 

orchards, and vineyards and towered fortresses, had been aban- 
doned by the English and Burgundians to its own protection; 
Burgundy going to look after his personal concerns, while Bed- 
ford swept the adjacent country with fire and sword. She had 
been needed in northern France, and Jeanne's heart was heavy 
with tenderness for the suffering people of that region. 

Many feasts were held in her honour, and both the King 
and the Queen showered attentions upon her, trying by fine 
clothes and caresses to make her forget her mission and her 
despair. In December the King, in the presence of La 
Tremouille, Le Macon, and other courtiers, conferred upon 
Jeanne a patent of nobility, sealed with a great seal of green 
wax upon ribbons of green and crimson, the Orleans colours. 

"In consideration of the praiseworthy and useful services 
which she has rendered to the realm and which she may still 
render, and to the end that the divine glory and the memory 
of such favors may endure and increase to all time, we bestow 
upon our beloved Jehanne d' Ay 1 the name of Du Lys in 
acknowledgment of the blows which she had struck for the lilies 
of France. And all her kith and kin herewith, her father, 
mother, brothers and their descendants in the male and female 
line to the farthest generation are also ennobled with her, and 
shall also bear the name Du Lys, and shall have for their 
arms a shield azure with a sword supporting the crown and 
golden fleur-de-lis on either side." Charles was a "well lan- 
guaged prince," and he conferred the patent with fine and 
noble words, but Jeanne would far rather have had a company 
of men to lead into the suffering country of northern France. 

i So spelled in the patent. A softening of the Loi-raine D'Arc. 

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JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 

She cared nothing for either the grant of nobility or the blazon, 
and never used them, preferring to be known simply as Jeanne 
the Maid. Her brothers, however, Pierre and Jean, were de- 
lighted, and ever after bore the name of Du Lys. 

The winter passed, bringing with it Jeanne's eighteenth 
birthday. The truce with Burgundy had been extended until 
Easter, and the Maid waited the festival with what grace she 
could, determined that the end of the truce should find her 
near Paris. March found her at Sully, where the Court was 
visiting at La Tremouille. Easter was early that year, falling 
on March twenty-seventh, and as soon as it was over Jeanne left 
the Court, and rode northward with her Company. 

On her way north she heard of the disaffection of Melun, a 
town some twenty-one miles south of Paris, which had been 
in English hands for ten years. When the English took the 
place they had locked up its brave captain, Barbazon, in 
Louvier, from which place he had recently been released by La 
Hire. In the Autumn of 1429 Bedford had turned the town 
over to Burgundy ; but during April on the return of Barbazon 
the burghers rose, and turned out the captain and his Bur- 
gundian garrison, and declared for France. It was a three 
days' ride from Sully-sur-Loire to Melun across rough country 
and up the long ridge of Fontainebleau forest, but Jeanne 
arrived with her men in time to help the citizens resist the onset 
made against the town by a company of English which had 
been sent to restore the English allegiance. Joyfully they 
welcomed her, giving over the defense into her charge. 

The first thing that Jeanne did was to make a survey of the 
walls, that she might consider their strength and how best to 

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JOAN OF ARC 

fortify them against assault. One warm pleasant day in April 
she stood on the ramparts superintending some repairs that 
she had ordered when all at once her Voices came to her. 

"Daughter of God," they said, "you will be taken before the 
Feast of St. Jean. So it must be. Fear not, but accept it 
with resignation. God will aid you." 

Jeanne stood transfixed as she heard the words. The feast 
of St. Jean was near the end of June. Only two months more 
in which to fight for France. Her face grew white as the words 
were repeated, and a great fear fell upon her. A prisoner? 
Better, far better would it be to die than to be a prisoner in the 
hands of the English. All their taunts, their gibes, their 
threats came to her in a rush of memory. She knew what to 
expect; the stake and the fire had been held up as a menace 
often enough. Terrified, the young girl fell on her knees, 
uttering a broken cry of appeal: 

"Not that! Not that! Out of your grace I beseech you 
that I may die in that hour." 

"Fear not; so it must be," came the reply. "Be of good 
courage. God will aid you." 

"Tell me the hour, and the day," she pleaded brokenly. 

"Before the St. Jean. Before the St. Jean," came the reply. 
And that was all. 

For a long moment Jeanne knelt, her face bowed upon her 
hands ; then she bent and kissed the ground before her. 

"God's Will be done," she said. Rising she went on with 
her work, as calmly, as serenely as though knowledge of her 
fate had not been vouchsafed her. 

She knew, but she did not falter. A braver deed was never 

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JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 

done. Who else has shown such courage and high heart since 
the beginning of the world? To know that she was to be taken, 
and yet to proceed with her task as though she knew it not! 
There is an ecstasy in the whirl of battle; a wild joy in the mad 
charge of cavalry and the clash of steel on steel. There is 
contagion in numbers filled with the thought that the enemy 
must be overcome, the fortress taken; a contagion that leads to 
deeds of valour. There is inspiration in the call of the bugle, 
or sound of the trumpet, in the waving of banners, in the war 
cries of the captains. But for the prisoner there is no ecstasy, 
no joy, no valorous contagion induced by numbers, no inspira- 
tion of music, or banners, or war cries. There are only the 
chill of the dungeon, the clank of the chain, the friendless lone- 
liness, and at length the awful death. But with capture cer- 
tain, with the consciousness of what was in store, this girl of 
eighteen went her way doing all that she could in the little time 
that was left her for France. 

The fighting of the Spring was to be along the River Oise. 
While Charles and his Council had rested serenely reliant upon 
the faith of Burgundy, the duke and the Regent had completed 
their plans for the Spring campaign. An army, victualled in 
Normandy and Picardy, was to take the towns near Paris and 
thereby relieve the city, which was to be well garrisoned. Only 
by recovering these towns from the French could Paris be made 
secure. The good town of Compiegne was especially to be de- 
sired, for whosoever held Compiegne would come in time to 
hold Paris. It was thirty leagues to the north and west of the 
capital, lying on the River Oise. It will be recalled that 
Charles had offered the city as a bribe to Burgundy to woo 

[321 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

him from the English allegiance, but the city had refused to be 
lent. It had submitted to the King and the Maid the August 
before, and its people remained loyal, declaring that they would 
die and see their wives and children dead before they would 
yield to England or Burgundy; saying that they preferred 
death to dishonour. They had imbibed Jeanne's spirit, and 
the Maid loved them. 

It was further planned by the Regent to clear the road to 
Reims so that young Henry of England might be crowned 
there. Bedford was bringing him over from England for that 
purpose, believing that the French would be more inclined to 
support him if he were crowned at Reims. This plan was 
given up, however, for Burgundy warned Bedford against at- 
tempting to imitate the feat of the Maid, saying that it was too 
difficult. So the real objective of the spring campaign be- 
came Compiegne, other movements being to relieve Paris, and 
to distract the French on their rear. For the French were 
rising; rising without their King. All over northern France 
there were stir and activity as troops began to gather to go 
against the enemy. 

From Melun Jeanne journeyed to Lagny, which was but a 
short distance away, but the road was through a country full 
of enemies, in which she was subject to attack from every direc- 
tion. It was one of the towns recovered for France the August 
before, and was now held for Ambrose de Lore by Foucault 
with a garrison of Scots under Kennedy, and a Lombard soldier 
of fortune, Baretta, with his company of men-at-arms, cross- 
bowmen and archers. It was making "good war on the English 
in Paris," and "choking the heart of the kingdom." 

[322] 



JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 

Paris itself became greatly excited when it heard of the 
arrival of the Maid at Lagny, its ill-neighbor, and feared that 
she was coming to renew her attack on the city. Among the 
English also there was consternation when the tidings spread 
that again Jeanne had taken to the field. "The witch is out 
again," they declared to their captains when the officers sought 
to embark troops for France, and many refused to go. They 
deserted in crowds. Beating and imprisonment had no effect 
upon them, and only those who could not escape were forced 
on board. 

Jeanne had scarcely reached Lagny when news came that a 
band of Anglo-Burgundians was traversing the Isle of France, 
under one Franquet d' Arras, burning and pillaging the coun- 
try, damaging it as much as they could. The Maid, with Fou- 
cault, Kennedy and Baretta, determined to go against the free- 
booters. 

They came up with the raiders when they were laying siege 
to a castle, and were laden with the spoils of a recently sacked 
village. The assault was made, and "hard work the French 
had of it," for the enemy was superior in numbers. But after 
a "bloody fight" they were all taken or slain, with losses also 
to the French in killed and wounded. 

For some reason the leader, Franquet d' Arras, was given to 
Jeanne. There had been an Armagnac plot in Paris in March 
to deliver the city to the loyalists, but it had failed. The Maid 
hoped to exchange the leader of the freebooters for one of the 
chief conspirators who had been imprisoned, but it was found 
that the man had died in prison, so the burghers demanded 
Franquet of Jeanne, claiming that he should be tried as a mur- 

[323 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

derer and thief by the civil law. Jeanne did as requested, 
saying as she released him to the Bailly of Senlis: 

"As my man is dead, do with the other what you should do 
for justice." 

Franquet's trial lasted two weeks ; he confessed to the charges 
against him, and was executed. The Burgundians although 
accustomed to robbery, murder and treachery, charged Jeanne 
with being guilty of his death, and later this was made a great 
point against her. 

There was another happening at Lagny that was later made 
the basis of a charge against the Maid. A babe about three 
days old died, and so short a time had it lived that it had not 
received the rites of baptism, and must needs therefore be 
buried in unconsecrated ground. In accordance with the cus- 
tom in such cases the child was placed upon the altar in the 
hope of a miracle, and the parents came to Jeanne requesting 
her to join with the maidens of the town who were assembled 
in the church praying God to restore life that the little one 
might be baptized. 

Jeanne neither worked, nor professed to work miracles. 
She did not pretend to heal people by touching them with her 
ring, nor did the people attribute miracles to her. But she 
joined the praying girls in the church, and entreated Heaven 
to restore the infant to life, if only for so brief a space of time 
as might allow it to be received into the Church. Now as they 
knelt and prayed the little one seemed suddenly to move. It 
gasped three times and its color began to come back. 

Crying, "A miracle! A miracle!" the maidens ran for the 
priest, and brought him. When he came to the side of the child 

[324] 



JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 

he saw that it was indeed alive, and straightway baptized it and 
received it into the Church. And as soon as this had been 
done the little life that had flared up so suddenly went out, 
and the infant was buried in holy ground. If receiving an 
answer to earnest prayer be witchcraft were not the maidens 
of Lagny equally guilty with Jeanne? But this act was later 
included in the list of charges brought against her. 

From Lagny Jeanne went to various other places in danger, 
or that needed encouragement or help. She made two hurried 
visits to Compiegne which was being menaced in more than one 
direction by both parties of the enemy, and was now at Soissons, 
now at Senlis, and presently in the latter part of May came to 
Crepy en Valois. 

And here came the news that Compiegne was being invested 
on all sides, and that preparations to press the siege were being 
actively made. Eager to go at once to the aid of the place 
Jeanne ordered her men to get ready for the march. She had 
but few in her company, not more than two or three hundred, 
and some of them told her that they were too few to pass 
through the hosts of the enemy. A warning of this sort never 
had any effect upon Jeanne. 

"By my staff, we are enough," she cried. "I will go to see 
my good friends at Compiegne." 1 

At midnight of the twenty-second, therefore, she set forth 
from Crepy, and by hard riding arrived at Compiegne in the 
early dawn, to the great joy and surprise of the Governor, 
Guillaume de Flavy, and the people who set the bells to ringing 
and the trumpets to sounding a glad welcome. 

i These words are on the base of a statue of her that stands in the square of the 
town. 

[325] 



JOAN OF ARC 

The men-at-arms were weary with the night's ride, but 
Jeanne, after going to mass, met with the Governor to arrange 
a plan of action. 

Now Compiegne in situation was very like to Orleans, in 
that it lay on a river, but it was on the south instead of the 
north bank. Behind the city to the southward stretched the 
great forest of Pierrefonds, and at its feet was the River Oise. 
In front of the city across the river a broad meadow extended 
to the low hills of Picardy. It was low land, subject to floods, 
so that there was a raised road or causeway from the bridge 
of Compiegne to the foot of the hills, a mile distant. Three 
villages lay on this bank: at the end of the causeway was the 
tower and village of Margny, where was a camp of Rurgun- 
dians; on the left, a mile and a half below the causeway, was 
Venette, where the English lay encamped; and to the right, a 
league distant above the causeway, stood Clairoix, where the 
Rurgundians had another camp. The first defence of the city, 
facing the enemy, was a bridge fortified with a tower and boule- 
vard, which were in turn guarded by a deep fosse. 

It was Jeanne's plan to make a sally in the late afternoon 
when an attack would not be expected, against Margny, which 
lay at the other end of the raised road. Margny taken, she 
would turn to the right and strike at Clairoix, the second Bur- 
gundian camp, and so cut off the Rurgundians from their 
English allies at Venette. De Flavy agreed to the sortie, and 
proposed to line the ramparts of the boulevard with culverins, 
men, archers, and cross-bowmen to keep the English troops 
from coming up from below and seizing the causeway and 
cutting off retreat should Jeanne have to make one; and to 

[326] 




FORWARD ! THEY ARE OURS ! 



JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 

station a number of small boats filled with archers along the 
further bank of the river to shoot at the enemy if the troops 
should be driven back, and for the rescue of such as could not 
win back to the boulevard. 

The whole of the long May day was occupied in completing 
arrangements, and it was not until five o'clock in the after- 
noon that everything was in readiness. It had been a beautiful 
day, warm with May sunshine, but cooled by a breeze from the 
west, sweet with the scent of flowers and growing grass. The 
walls of the city, the windows and roofs of the houses, the 
buildings on the bridge, and the streets were lined with people 
waiting to see the Maid and her companions set forth. Pres- 
ently Jeanne appeared, standard in hand, mounted on a great 
grey horse, and clad in a rich hucque of crimson cramoisie over 
her armour. At sight of her the people went wild with joy, 
shouting: 

"Noel! Noel! Noel!" while women and girls threw flow- 
ers before her. Jeanne turned a happy face toward them, 
bowing and smiling, as she rode forth to her last field. 

With her rode D'Aulon, his brother, Pothon le Bourgnignon, 
her brothers, Jean and Pierre, and her Confessor, Father 
Pasquerel, and a company of five hundred men. Across the 
bridge they clattered, then took at speed the long line of the 
causeway to Margny. 

"Forward! they are ours!" called Jeanne's clear voice as the 
village was reached. 

With a shout the troops hurled themselves upon the Burgun- 
dians, taking the enemy completely by surprise. A scene of 
confusion ensued. There were cries of triumph from the 

[327] 



JOAN OF ARC 

French as they chased the Burgundians hither and thither, and 
cries of dismay and clashing of steel from the Burgundians as 
they scattered before the French through the village. Every- 
thing was going as the Maid had planned; for the town was 
taken. 

Just at this juncture Jean de Luxembourg, commander of 
the Burgundian camp at Clair oix, with several companions, was 
riding from Clairoix on a visit to the commander at Margny. 
They had drawn rein on the cliff above Margny, and were dis- 
cussing the defences of Compiegne when, hearing the clash of 
arms, they looked over the bluff and saw the scrimmage. 
Wheeling, they made for Clairoix, and brought up their troops 
on a gallop. To render the post of Margny untenable took 
time ; so when, flushed with triumph, Jeanne's men turned into 
the plain toward Clairoix, Luxembourg's men-at-arms set upon 
them, attacking their right flank. The French rolled back, 
overwhelmed by the onslaught. Rallying her men, Jeanne 
charged, and swept back the enemy. Again the French were 
repulsed; again the Maid drove back the Burgundians; and 
thus the fray raged on the flat ground of the meadow, first in 
favor of the one, and then of the other. As they surged with 
this alternative of advance and retreat the French were pressed 
back to the causeway. And then, as reinforcements of the Bur- 
gundians continued to arrive a panic suddenly seized the 
French, and they broke and ran for the bridge and the boats. 
In vain Jeanne tried to rally them to the charge. For once 
they were deaf to her voice. 

Caring only for the safety of her band Jeanne covered the 
rear, charging the enemy with those who remained with her, 

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JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 

with such effect that they were driven back full half the length 
of the causeway. "She that was the chief and most valiant of 
her band, doing deeds beyond the nature of woman." 1 

Suddenly there sounded a loud hurrah, and from a little wood 
on the left there came galloping and running across the meadow 
land from Venette the men-at-arms and the archers of England. 
Assailed on all sides, for the Burgundians at Margny had ral- 
lied and re-entered the fray, the confusion of the French be- 
came extreme. A struggling, seething mass of fugitives 
crowded the causeway, running for their lives. Men and foot 
soldiers, and behind them mounted men-at-arms, spurring hard, 
and all making for the boulevard. The gunners on the walls 
trained their cannon on the mass of men, but fugitives and 
enemy were so commingled that friend and foe could not be dis- 
tinguished, and they dared not fire. And De Flavy did 
nothing. 

Roused to the danger of their position D'Aulon entreated 
Jeanne to make for the town. 

"The day is lost, Pucelle," he cried. "All are in retreat. 
Make for the town." But Jeanne shook her head. 

"Never," she cried. "To the charge!" 

D'Aulon, Jean and Pierre, her brothers, all her own little 
company, closed around her, resolved to sell their lives dearly 
in her defence, and D'Aulon and Pierre, seizing hold of her 
bridle rein, forcibly turned her toward the town, carrying her 
back in spite of herself. 

But now they were assailed from all sides, the little company 
fighting, struggling, contesting every inch of ground, beating 

i Monstrelet— a Burgundian Chronicler— so writes of her. 

[329] 



JOAN OF ARC 

off their adversaries, and advancing little by little toward the 
boulevard. 

"We shall make it, Jeanne," exulted Pierre D'Arc when they 
were within a stone's throw of the walls, but the words died 
on his lips, for at this moment came a ringing order from the 
gate: 

"Up drawbridge: close gates: down portcullis!" 

Instantly the drawbridge flew up, down came the portcullis, 
the gates were closed and barred. Jeanne the Maid was shut 
out. 

A groan came from Pierre's lips, but his sister smiled at him 
bravely; as old D'Aulon shouted: 

"Treachery! In God's name, open for the Maid." 

But the gates were closed, and the drawbridge remained up. 
There was a second's interchange of looks between the brothers 
and sister as the enemy with shouts of triumph closed around 
them in overwhelming numbers. Only a second, but in that 
brief time they took a mute farewell of each other. Man after 
man of the little company was cut down or made prisoner. 
D'Aulon was seized, then Jean, then Pierre, and Jeanne found 
herself struggling in the midst of a multitude of Anglo-Bur- 
gundians. One seized her wrists, while a Picard archer tore 
her from the saddle by the long folds of her crimson hucque, 
and in a moment they were all upon her. 

"Yield your faith to me," cried the Picard archer, who had 
seized her hucque. 

"I have given my faith to another than you, and I will keep 
my oath," rang the undaunted girl's answer. 

At this moment there came a wild clamour of bells from the 

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JEANNE'S LAST FIELD 

churches of Compiegne in a turbulent call to arms to save the 
Maid. Their urgent pealing sounded too late. 

Jeanne D'Arc had fought on her last field. The inspired 
Maid was a prisoner. 



[331 ] 




CHAPTER XXV 

In Prison Cells 

"It was fit that the savior of France should be a woman. 
France herself is a woman. She has the fickleness of the 
sex, but also its amiable gentleness, its facile and charm- 
ing pity, and the excellence of its first impulses" 

Michelet. "Joan of Arc." 

THERE were shouts of triumph and exultation as the 
Maid was led back over the causeway to Margny. 
The sun had long since set, and the dusk was dying 
down into darkness. All along the causeway the earth was 
stained with blood, and sown with broken swords, scraps of 
armour, and the dead of friend and foe united now in the peace 
of mortality. Jeanne was too great a prize for a mere archer 
to claim, so Jean de Luxembourg bought her immediately from 
the man, allowing him to retain her hucque of crimson 
cramoisie, her saddle cloth, and horse with caparisons. Then 
she was taken to his camp at Clairoix. 

Thither came also the great Duke of Burgundy from his 

[ 332 ] 



IN PRISON CELLS 

camp at Coudon, eager to see the girl who had almost uprooted 
the dominion of the English in France. Thither also 
assembled the English and Burgundians from the other camps 
in numbers, with cries and rejoicings over the taking of the 
Maid. Had a great victory been won the effect could not have 
been greater. It broke the spell. The Maid was human, like 
other women. So they were "as joyous as if they had taken 
five hundred prisoners, for they feared her more than all the 
French captains put together." 

Several times Philip of Burgundy had expressed a wish to 
see Jeanne the Maid, especially after receiving her letters sum- 
moning him to his rightful allegiance. Now as he found her 
sitting calmly in the quarters to which she had been committed, 
he could not forbear an exclamation of surprise at her youth 
and loveliness. 

"So you are the Pucelle?" he cried. 

"I am Jeanne the Maid, messire," she answered, regarding 
him with grave earnestness. "And you, I doubt not, are that 
Burgundy who hath beguiled the gentle King with fair words 
and false promises?" 

"I am Philip, Duke of Burgundy," he replied haughtily. 
"What I have done hath been for our royal master, Henry, 
King of England and of France." 

"Ay! and for your country's wreck and woe." 

"Those are bold words, Pucelle," ejaculated the duke, flush- 
ing. "Have a care. Neither man nor witch may so speak to 
Burgundy." 

"My lord duke, if they be not true then most humbly do I 

[338] 



JOAN OF ARC 

entreat your pardon. If they be not true, why then do you 
besiege the good city of Compiegne, bringing suffering upon 
your own people? They are French, as you are." 

"The city was promised me," he uttered angrily. "Charles 
the Dauphin gave it me. 'Twas in the truce. He broke his 
faith." 

"And how kept you yours?" asked the girl dauntlessly. "I 
think, my lord, that Paris once was promised Charles. How 
was that faith kept?" 

But Philip, without reply, turned upon his heel angrily, and 
left the room. Forthwith he sent dispatches to the Regent, to 
the Dukes of Brittany and Savoy, to his city of St. Quentin, 
and to the town of Gand that all Christendom might know that 
the Witch of the Armagnacs was taken. 

"By the pleasure of our Blessed Creator," he wrote, "such 
grace has come to pass that she whom they call the Maid has 
been taken. The great news of this capture should be spread 
everywhere and brought to the knowledge of all, that they may 
see the error of those who could believe and lend themselves to 
the pretensions of such a woman. We write this in the hope of 
giving you joy, comfort, and consolation, and that you may 
thank God our Creator." 

Over France the tidings spread. From lip to lip it flew: 
the Maid was taken. Paris rejoiced, showing its delight by 
building bonfires and singing Te Deums in the Cathedral of 
Notre Dame. In the loyal cities and in the hearts of the peas- 
antry there was mourning. At Tours the entire population 
appeared in the streets with bare feet, singing the Miserere in 

[334] 



IN PRISON CELLS 

penance and affliction. Orleans and Blois made public prayers 
for her safety, and Reims had to be especially soothed by its 
Archbishop. 

"She would not take counsel," wrote Regnault de Chartres, 
Archbishop of Reims, who had always been an enemy to 
Jeanne, "but did everything according to her own will. But 
there has lately come to the King a young shepherd boy who 
says neither more nor less than Jeanne the Maid. He is com- 
manded by God to go to the King, and defeat the English and 
Burgundians. He says that God suffered her to be taken 
because she was puffed up with pride, loved fine clothes, and 
preferred her own pleasure to any guidance." 

The archbishop's letter silenced Reims and other cities. 
Silenced their outcries, that is, for they continued to send 
petitions to the King pleading that he would gather the money 
for her ransom, but he did nothing. Another Archbishop, 
Jacques Gelu, of Embrun, who had written Charles in favor 
of Jeanne after Orleans now addressed some bold words to the 
monarch on her behalf: 

"For the recovery of this girl, and for the ransom of her life, 
I bid you spare neither means nor money, howsoever great the 
price, unless you would incur the indelible shame of most dis- 
graceful ingratitude." 

But the King preferred the "indelible shame of disgraceful 
ingratitude," for he made no effort of any sort for Jeanne's 
ransom or rescue. He had been a poor discredited Dauphin, 
with doubts as to his own claims to the throne, contemplating 
flight into Scotland or Spain when Jeanne came to him at 
Chinon. She had resolved his doubts, restored the realm, and 

[ S35 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

made him King with the sacred oil upon his brow, yet he pre- 
ferred to keep his money for his pleasures than to give it for the 
maiden who had done so much for him. Charles the Seventh of 
France has been called Charles the Well-served, Charles the 
Victorious, and he is rightly so called; for it was always others 
who did his work for him, and won his victories; but Charles 
the Dastard is the best appellation that can be given him. 
The ingratitude of Princes is well known, but the heart sickens 
before such baseness as he showed toward the Maid of Orleans, 
and the mind revolts from the thought that human nature can 
sink to such depths. 

But if Charles and the French were indifferent to the value 
of Jeanne others were not. The University of Paris upon 
receipt of the news of her capture sent at once to Burgundy, 
demanding that Jean de Luxembourg send forthwith "this 
Jeanne, violently suspected of many crimes touching heresy, to 
appear before the Council of Holy Inquisition." A second 
letter followed this appeal, saying that it was "feared that the 
woman would be put out of their jurisdiction in some man- 
ner." The University feared without cause, for no attempt 
was ever made to redeem the girl whose only crime was to have 
defended, with matchless heroism, her country and her King. 

Back of the University stood the English, who were eager 
to get possession of her person, and were willing to pay even 
princely rewards for her delivery into their hands. They had 
their vengeance to gratify. They had always threatened to 
burn her if they caught her, and could she be condemned and 
executed as a sorceress Charles of Valois would be dishonoured 
through her who had crowned him, and it would appear that his 

[336] 



IN PRISON CELLS 

cause was not the true one; that Henry of England was the 
true sovereign of France. Most Englishmen believed that 
Jeanne was really a witch, for at this time no man believed that 
she could accomplish her deeds without supernatural aid. Con- 
sequently, as the English did not wish to think that God was 
against them they pronounced her aid to be from the Evil One. 
So Pierre Cauchon, the Bishop of Beauvais, was sent by Bed- 
ford to Jean de Luxembourg to negotiate the purchase of the 
Maid. He was an enemy of France ; he had a personal grudge 
toward Jeanne because through her success in arms he had 
been expelled from his diocese, and was just the right sort of 
man to send for dickering in such a trade. Jean de Luxem- 
bourg was needy, and already in the pay of the English, but he 
did not wish to let his prize go until he had his money, so 
Jeanne was sent north to Beaulieu in the Vermandois, where he 
had a strong castle, until the arrangements were perfected for 
her sale. 

D'Aulon, her squire, was sent with her, for during this period 
of imprisonment Jeanne was treated honourably, and allowed 
attendance. She was cheerful and hopeful at Beaulieu for a 
time, and one day D'Aulon said to her: 

"That poor town of Compiegne, which you loved so dearly, 
will now be placed in the hands of the enemies of France." 

"It shall not be," cried Jeanne in a flash of inspiration, "for 
no place which the King of Heaven has put in the hands of the 
gentle King Charles by my aid, shall be retaken by his enemies 
while he does his best to keep them." 

But, in spite of these brave words, the fate of the town hung 
heavy upon her spirit. Her guards told her tales of how the 

;[837] 



JOAN OF ARC 

siege was progressing, and of the sufferings of the people. 
Jeanne chafed under inaction while her friends needed her, and 
watched eagerly for a chance whereby she might escape and go 
to their aid. She had not given her faith to any man, and was 
not on parole. 

In one side of the chamber in which she was confined there 
was a window opening upon a dark corridor. Across were 
nailed some narrow planks, the space between them being suf- 
ficient for a very slender person to slip through. Jeanne 
resolved to risk an attempt. 

Her guards were in an adjoining room, which also opened 
upon the dark corridor, but once past their room she believed 
that she might gain the grounds of the chateau and from thence 
reach the wooded country that lay beyond its immediate con- 
fines. The plan worked perfectly — to a certain point. She 
was slight enough to slip between the narrow planks, which 
she did, and found herself in the corridor, which was dark and 
musty from long disuse. There was a huge key in the lock of 
the door where the guards were, and this Jeanne turned as 
noiselessly as possible, then darted away through the dim pas- 
sageway. Alas! the porter of the chateau, who had not the 
least business in that part of the castle, suddenly came out of 
another room opening upon the corridor, and confronted her. 
Without ado the maiden was marched back to her chamber, like 
a naughty child, and the guards were doubled. 

"It did not please God that I should escape this time," she 
said plaintively to D'Aulon when he came to attend her. 

Jean de Luxembourg was alarmed when he heard of the 
attempt. She was too rich a prize to lose, so he sent her post 

[338 ] 



IN PRISON CELLS 

haste to his stronghold of Beaurevoir, which was forty miles 
further north, beyond St. Quentin in the plain of Picardy, 
and was the residence of his wife, aunt, and step-daughter. 

She was shut up here at the top of a tower sixty feet high, 
but notwithstanding this fact her condition was much alleviated, 
for the ladies of the household visited her daily, becoming 
greatly attached to her. These good women tried to get her to 
lay aside her masculine attire, for it troubled and shamed them 
to see her in the costume of a man. Jeanne explained courte- 
ously her reasons for wearing the garb when they brought a 
woman's frock to her, and besought her to put it on. 

"It is best to be so dressed while in the serious work of war," 
she told them. "When among men it is more seemly to wear 
the garb of a soldier; but," she added graciously, "were it time 
for me to change the fashion of my dress I would do it for you 
two ladies who have been so kind rather than for any one in 
France except my Queen." 

Many persons visited her while she was at this castle, but as 
Jean de Luxembourg, the master of the house, was himself 
in camp before Compiegne there was the disadvantage of con- 
stant news, and the girl's anxiety became pitiable as the tidings 
from her "good friends" at Compiegne daily became more un- 
favourable. 

D'Aulon was no longer with her, and for the first time Jeanne 
was entirely without a friend of the old life with her. There 
was no word that her King or her friends were doing anything 
for her, but only talk of the English and how they wished to 
buy her. Both visitors and guards told her of the besieged 
city and that their sufferings were driving the citizens to des- 

[ 339] 



JOAN OF ARC 

peration. There was joy and thanksgiving in the castle upon 
the coming of the heralds with dispatches that seemed to be 
always to the advantage of the Burgundians. It preyed upon 
the maiden's mind ; she lost confidence and hope, becoming very 
despondent. 

"When Compiegne is taken all persons beyond the age of 
seven years are to be put to the sword," one of her visitors said 
one day. 

"I would rather die than live after the destruction of such 
good people," she said. "Also I would rather die than be in 
the hands of my enemies of England." She paced the floor in 
great agitation after the visitor left her. 

"How can God leave those good people of Compiegne, who 
have been and are so loyal to their King, to perish?" she cried. 

And the thought came to her that she must escape, that she 
must go to the rescue of Compiegne. There were blows to be 
struck there that only she could strike. She must go to 
Compiegne. Jeanne was but a young girl. She could not 
realize that her allotted time was over. It is hard for one to 
accept the fact one is not needed ; that everything can go on as 
usual without one, and Jeanne was very young. All at once 
the desperate expedient came to her to leap from the tower. 

"Do not leap," admonished her Voices. "Be patient. God 
will help you, and also Compiegne." 

"Then since God will aid the good people of Compiegne I 
desire to be with them," said Jeanne. 

"You must bear these things gladly," St. Catherine told her. 
"Delivered you will not be until you have seen the King of 
England." 

[S40] 



IN PRISON CELLS 

"Verily," cried the Maid like the child she was, "I have no 
wish to see him, and would rather die than be in English hands." 

"Do not leap," came from St. Catherine again. "Be patient. 
All will be well." 

But Jeanne was wrought up to too great a pitch to heed. 
For the first time since her Saints had come to her she delib- 
erately disobeyed their counsels. Going to the top of the 
tower she commended herself to God and Our Lady and 
leaped. 

Some time later she was found at the foot of the tower where 
she had fallen. She was insensible, and lay so long unconscious 
that the Luxembourg ladies feared that she was dead. After a 
time she regained consciousness, but for three days could neither 
eat nor drink. The wonder is that she escaped destruction, but 
no bones were broken, and she was not even seriously injured. 

"I have sinned," confessed the girl humbly to her Saints when 
next they visited her. "I have sinned." And of God she 
asked pardon for her impatience and disobedience. She was 
forgiven, and comforted. 

"Fear naught," Saint Catherine said consolingly. "They of 
Compiegne shall have succor before St. Martin's Day." 

And now having obtained forgiveness for her sin Jeanne 
recovered and began to eat, and soon was well. As for Com- 
piegne, it was delivered, as was foretold a fortnight before St. 
Martin's Day. The men of the town worked bravely under 
De Flavy, and their courageous endurance enabled them to 
hold out until the twenty-fifth of October, when they were 
rescued by a concerted movement of Vendome and Zaintrailles, 
and a sortie of the citizens. The enemy was forced to make a 

[341] 



JOAN OF ARC 

shameful retreat, being completely routed, abandoning their 
artillery and supplies. Many strong towns which adjoined 
Compiegne made submission to the King, but it was the loyalty 
and courage of Compiegne that really shattered the Anglo- 
Burgundian campaign of 1430. 

Meantime Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beauvais, was travel- 
ling from Burgundy to Luxembourg, and thence to Bedford 
in the effort to complete the sale of the maiden. Jeanne's price 
had been settled at ten thousand pounds in gold. It was the 
ransom of a prince, and Jeanne was a peasant maid, but the 
English had no doubt of her importance. There was delay in 
raising the money, but when at last Regent Bedford received a 
large sum from Normandy he set aside ten thousand pounds 
which he said "were to be devoted to the purchase of Jehanne la 
Pucelle, said to be a witch, and certainly a military personage, 
leader of the hosts of the Dauphin." The Demoiselle de Lux- 
embourg begged Jean, her nephew, not to sell the maiden 
to the English. He knew, and she knew what fate lay in store 
for the girl, and she besought him with tears not to take the 
blood money. But, pleading poverty, de Luxembourg would 
not listen, and the sale was made. 

Jeanne now was removed to Arras, where Philip of Bur- 
gundy held his court, and here the money passed hands. Jean 
de Luxembourg received his ten thousand pounds, and Philip 
of Burgundy was rewarded with political favors. Jeanne was 
at last in the hands of the English, who immediately removed 
her to their strong fortress of Crotoy, a castle by the sea, and 
now that they had her they "rejoiced as greatly as if they had 
received all the wealth of Lombardy." 

[342] 



IN PRISON CELLS 

But she was treated honourably here, like any prisoner of 
war. Once too some ladies of Abbeville, five leagues from 
Crotoy, came down the River Somme in a boat to see her. As 
were all women, they were much pleased with the gentle 
maiden, and wept when they took leave of her, kissing her 
affectionately, and wishing her all sorts of favours from 
Heaven. Jeanne thanked them warmly for their visit, and 
commended herself to their prayers. Another comfort was 
vouchsafed her here: a fellow prisoner, a priest in a dungeon 
of Crotoy, was allowed to visit her daily to say mass and to give 
her the holy communion. So that the month of her stay served 
to soothe and calm her mind, and give her fortitude for what 
was to come. 

The University of Paris was becoming impatient for its prey. 
Its offer to see her to a speedy condemnation had not been 
accepted, and a sharp letter was sent to Pierre Cauchon saying 
that if he had been more diligent the "cause of the woman would 
already have been before the ecclesiastical court." But it was 
not the fault of Cauchon, but of the English, who had hesitated 
about taking the Maid for trial to Paris. It was unquiet in the 
He de France, and all the northern country seemed turning 
again toward Charles; therefore there might be danger of 
Jeanne being captured by the French before Paris could be 
reached. Nor did they wish to take her to England. It was 
decided, in consequence, to hold the trial in Rouen in Nor- 
mandy, where they were most strong, under the zealous Pierre 
Cauchon, and an officer of the Holy Inquisition to sit with him 
as co- judge. 

So again Jeanne's prison was changed. At the end of the 

[343] 



JOAN OF ARC 

year she was taken from Crotoy, and, travelling slowly along 
the coast, reached Rouen by way of Eu and Dieppe, as far away 
as possible from any risk of rescue. It was in the beginning of 
the year 1431 that she arrived at Rouen, and at once she was 
taken to the castle and lodged in its great tower. It was a 
gloomy edifice, and the room to which she was assigned was 
in the first story, up eight steps from the postern gate, where 
light and air struggled feebly through a narrow slit through the 
twelve foot wall. 

The severities inflicted upon her here were terrible. For 
the first time she was heavily fettered ; even at night her ankles 
were ironed and fastened to a chain which passed under her 
bed and was locked to a heavy beam at the foot. Hands, feet 
and throat were bound to a pillar, and she was kept in an iron 
cage, or huche. Also, because it was their policy to degrade 
her as well as to keep her, five rude English soldiers from the 
lowest class were given her for guards. Three of these were 
always to be in her room night and day, and two outside. The 
whole being sickens, and is filled with rage, and shame, and 
burning indignation at the cruelties that were inflicted upon 
this modest young girl. Where were La Hire, Dunois, 
Alencon, Boussac, Rais, and other captains that no sword was 
drawn for Jeanne? 

Oh, shame to England that so used her! And ten times 
shame to France who deserted her and sold her! A blot upon 
England? Yes. And upon France that she had saved. A 
stain that can never be obliterated as long as the world stands. 
She was a woman in the age of chivalry, when women were sup- 
posed to be the objects of a kind of worship, every knight 

[344] 



IN PRISON CELLS 

being sworn to succor and help them in need and trouble. And 
the "Chivalry of England shamefully used and destroyed her; 
the Chivalry of France deserted and sold her." 1 

She was to be tried by the Church, yet she was placed in a 
military prison, instead of an ecclesiastical one guarded by 
women. There was but one solace; many times a day her 
Saints came to her whispering words of comfort and consola- 
tion. 

"But I do not always understand," said the maiden after- 
ward before her judges, "because of the disturbance in the 
prison, and the noise made by the guards." 

And thus, in chains, in an iron cage, Jeanne D'Arc passed 
her nineteenth birthday, 

i Andrew Lang. 



[845] 




CHAPTER XXVI 

On Trial 

"Great m everything as she was we here see her at her 
greatest." 

Andrew Lang. "The Maid of France" 

THE days passed drearily enough in the prison cell, but 
Jeanne endured the chains, the irons, and the hideous 
company of the guards rather than give her parole not 
to attempt an escape. The monotony of her misery was varied 
by visitors who came to stare at her and to banter her. 

In the castle in which she was confined there were many 
people: Bedford, the Regent, Beaufort, the Cardinal of Win- 
chester, the child king, Henry of England, the Earl of War- 
wick, the chief officers of both the royal and vice-royal court, 
and a host of guards and men-at-arms. There were many of 
these who were inquisitive and malicious concerning her. One 
of the visitors was Pierre Manuel, advocate of the King of 
England. 

"You would not have come here if you had not been 

[346] 



ON TRIAL 

brought," he accosted her jestingly. "Did you know before 
you were taken that you would be captured?" 

"I feared it," Jeanne answered sadly. 

"If you feared it, why were you not on your guard?" 

"I did not know the day nor the hour," she answered pa- 
tiently. 

The Earl of Warwick himself took more than one occasion to 
show Jeanne to his friends, and one day he brought the Earl of 
Stafford and Jean de Luxembourg to see her. De Luxem- 
bourg was the same who had sold her to the English. 

"Jeanne, I have come to ransom you," remarked the latter 
laughingly as the girl rose to a sitting posture from the bed 
where she was chained to give them courteous greeting. "That 
is, if you will promise never again to bear arms against us." 

"In God's name, you mock me," she cried with a flash of 
spirit. "I know that you have neither the will nor the power. 
I know that the English mean to kill me, believing, after I 
am dead, that they will be able to win the Kingdom of France ; 
but if there were a hundred thousand more Godons than there 
are, they shall never win the Kingdom." 

Whereupon Lord Stafford was so goaded to rage that he 
half drew his dagger to slay her, but Warwick stayed his hand. 
It was too merciful a death, and it was the English policy to 
have her executed ignominiously as a witch. 

After long, comfortless days of waiting Jeanne was informed 
that she was to be tried for heresy, and piteously she asked 
that some of her own party should be placed among the judges ; 
but this was refused. The charge of heresy against a girl to 
whom the ordinances of the Church were as the breath of life 

[347] 



JOAN OF ARC 

seems strange. She who lived in an ecstasy of religious 
fervour, who spent her time in prayer and religious exercises; 
who confessed regularly, and partook of the Sacraments of 
the Church whenever she could receive them, was accused by 
the Church of being a heretic and schismatic. Her great crime 
in the eyes of the clergy lay in affirming that she obeyed voices 
that came from God. 

In her cell Jeanne could know but little of the arrangements 
that were being made for the trial, which were on such a scale 
as to command the attention of all Europe. No homage ever 
rendered her by her own party conveys such a sense of her 
importance as this trial which was instigated by a great nation 
to neutralize her influence. 

Owing to the fact that the meadow land where she was cap- 
tured lay in the diocese of Beauvais Pierre Cauchon claimed 
jurisdiction over her. He had ever been a sympathizer with 
the English faction, and after Jeanne's triumphs had swept 
him out of his city he had fled for a while to England, and had 
come back to France with the Cardinal of Winchester, eager 
for rewards and revenge. A few months previous Winchester 
had recommended him to the Pope for the vacant archbishopric 
of Rouen, but his appointment was opposed by the clergy of 
that city, and the Pope had not yet come to a decision. He 
was a man of much learning and more ambition, and he de- 
lighted in the opportunity now afforded him of pleasing his 
English patrons, and avenging his private grudge. 

As Cauchon was presiding officer the trial should have been 
held, of course, in his diocese, but it was deemed expedient to 
hold it in Rouen, on account of the disturbances near Paris, and 

[ 348 ] 



ON TRIAL 

Canonical permission was obtained from the Cathedral Chapter 
of Rouen to hold the court in that city. Bishops, abbes, priors, 
representatives of the University of Paris, learned doctors, and 
noted priests, sixty of the greatest intellectuals of the Church, 
— all of them Frenchmen of the English faction, — were gath- 
ered together to bring to death a young, ignorant peasant girl. 

To arrange all the preliminaries that were necessary for the 
opening of the trial took time, so that it was not until toward 
the last of February that everything was in readiness. Such 
cases are always preceded by an inquiry into the former life of 
the accused as had been done at Poictiers, for this is according 
to French law. This examination was made but it was not 
of a nature to justify or strengthen any accusation. All that 
the examiners could discover was that Jeanne D'Arc was a 
good, honest maid who hadHeft a spotless reputation behind 
her in her native village. One commissioner reported that he 
had learned nothing which he would not willingly know of his 
own sister, although he had made inquiries in five or six par- 
ishes. Cauchon called him a traitor, and said that he would 
not pay for information that could be of no use to him. 

As this investigation had been productive of nothing that 
could be used against her an effort was made to trap Jeanne 
into admissions against herself. Accordingly one morning a 
man entered her cell who represented himself as a shoemaker 
coming from Lorraine. He was a prisoner, he said, but 
had received permission to visit her. Jeanne was delighted to 
see any one from the valley of the Meuse, so gave him cordial 
greeting, and the two fell into conversation. During the talk 
the supposed cobbler said suddenly in a low tone : 

[349] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"Pucelle, I am a priest. Nay," as Jeanne turned toward 
him with an exclamation of joy, "speak low. Some of the 
guards may understand French, and I am come to help you." 

"A priest?" The maiden's thin, white face grew radiant. 
"A priest, messire? Then you can hear me in confession?" 

"Gladly, my child." And forthwith the girl innocently 
opened up her heart to him. 

The man was in reality a priest, one Nicholas Loyseleur, a 
representative of the University of Paris, and full of treachery 
and hypocrisy. He served Cauchon well, for Jeanne trusted 
him wholly, never dreaming that every word she said to him was 
overheard and recorded by secret listeners. For there was 
provision made for espionage, openings being in the walls 
through which everything that took place in the room, every 
proceeding could be spied upon, and every word heard. Al- 
though the long conversations that this man held with Jeanne 
elicited nothing that she did not say publicly, he was always 
giving her advice which, when she followed it, she followed to 
her hurt. 

The preliminaries, as has been said, threatened to be endless, 
but at length, on Wednesday, February twenty-first, the Great 
Trial began at eight o'clock in the morning in the royal chapel 
of the castle. 

Jeanne gave a sigh of relief as the officer of the court, who 
was sent to conduct her to the chapel, released her from her 
fetters. 

"You are summoned to appear before the court, Pucelle," 
he explained. 

[350] 



ON TRIAL 

"May I hear mass before entering the court?" asked she 
wistfully. 

"Nay; it is not permitted," he answered. "Come!" 

So, surrounded by a strong guard, the Maid was led through 
the corridor to the royal chapel. It was but a short distance, 
but it was the first breath of fresh air that she had had in almost 
two months, and Jeanne inhaled it eagerly. The chapel was 
a large room, but it was not large enough to accommodate those 
who sought admission. Rouen was very full of people, and 
the leopards of England and the two-tailed lion of Burgundy 
were to be seen on every side. There was a motley populace 
of soldiers, citizens, priests and lawyers ; for the Great Trial had 
brought to the town any number of churchmen and men of the 
robe, each with his attendant train of clerics and secretaries. 

Forty -four of the assessors, as the assistants of Cauchon were 
called, were present in the chapel ranged in a semi-circle around 
the presiding Bishop. Doctors in theology, doctors in canon- 
ical and civil law, abbots and canons were there assembled in 
the solemnity of their priestly and professional robes; clerks, 
ready with their pens to record proceedings, lords, and notables 
of every degree of rank: all gathered to see how easily the 
Witch would be undone. 

To none of these worthies did Jeanne give attention as she 
was led through the spectators to a solitary bench which stood 
where all might see on a dais on one side of the room, near to 
the Bishop's stand. But, raising her large, grave eyes, she 
gazed earnestly at the Judge, Pierre Cauchon, Bishop of Beau- 
vais, who this day presided alone. It was a cold cruel face 

[ 351 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

upon which she looked; an intellectual face also, on which 
ambition sat. No man is so merciless toward an obstacle that 
stands in the way of his advancement as a cold intellectual man. 
Involuntarily Jeanne shuddered as she looked at him. 

After she was seated Cauchon addressed her, summarizing 
the accusations, and all the public reports and suspicions upon 
which the trial was based, exhorting her sternly. Then he re- 
quired her to take the oath upon the Scriptures, to speak the 
truth, and to answer all questions addressed to her. 

"I know not what things I may be asked," said Jeanne 
clearly. "Perhaps you may ask me questions which I cannot 
answer." 

As the sweet girlish voice rose in answer to the Bishop's com- 
mand there was a stir in the assembly and every eye was turned 
upon the maiden in the prisoner's seat. They saw a slender 
girl, just past nineteen, dressed in a page's suit of black, her 
dark hair, cut short man fashion, intensifying the pallor of her 
face, and the melancholy of her large eyes. She looked very 
young as she sat there, emaciated and fetter-worn from her 
irons. 

"Swear to tell the truth upon whatever you may be asked 
concerning the faith, and facts within your knowledge," re- 
joined the Bishop. 

"As to my father and mother," said Jeanne, "and what I did 
after setting out for France, I will swear willingly; but the 
revelations which have come to me from God I will reveal to no 
man except only to Charles, my King; I shall not reveal them 
to you though you cut off my head, because I have received 
them by vision and by secret communication, and am forbid- 

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den." After a moment's reflection she added: "Before eight 
days I shall know if I may tell you of them." 

The Bishop urged her again and again to take the oath with- 
out conditions. She refused, and they were at length obliged 
to offer a limited oath. Then, kneeling, Jeanne crossed her 
hands upon the Missal and swore to answer truly whatever 
might be asked of her, so far as she could, concerning the com- 
mon faith of Christians, but no more. Being then questioned 
concerning her name and early life she answered : 

' 'In my own country I was called Jeannette; ever since com- 
ing into France 1 I have been called Jeanne. I have as sur- 
name D'Arc or Romee; in my country girls take the name of 
their mother." Then she told the names of her father and 
mother, her godfather and godmothers, the priest who had bap- 
tized her, the place where she was born, her age, concluding 
with: "From my mother I learned my Pater, my Ave Marie, 
and my Credo. From my mother I learned all that I believe." 

"Say your Pate:/' commanded the Bishop abruptly; for it 
was believed that no witch could repeat the Lord's Prayer 
except backwards. 

"Hear me in confession, and I will say it for you willingly." 

Several times she was asked to say the Pater Noster, but her 
reply was always the same: "No; I will not say my Pater for 
you unless you hear me in confession." 

"We will willingly give you one or two worthy men who 
speak French; will you say your Pater to them?" 

i"Into France." A phrase used frequently by people living on the borderland; 
also because all the country about Domremy and adjacent villages was held by the 
enemy. This must be crossed to reach the king. Where he dwelt was regarded as 
the real France. 

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JOAN OF ARC 

"I shall not say it unless in confession," was her answer, 
whereby there was an implied protest to this company of 
priests who had refused her all the exercises of the Church. 

Cauchon ignored the appeal, and as the session was about to 
close forbade her to leave the prison which had been assigned 
her in the castle under pain of being pronounced guilty of 
heresy ; to this the maiden returned at once : 

"I do not accept such an injunction. If ever I escape, no 
one shall be able to reproach me with having broken my faith, 
as I have not given my word to any person whatever." Then 
she complained that they bound her with chains and shackles. 

"You tried several times to escape from the prison where 
you were detained," Cauchon reminded her, "and it was to 
keep you more surely that you were ordered to be put in irons." 

"It is true that I wished to get away," said Jeanne, "and I 
wish it still. Is not that a thing allowed to every prisoner?" 

Thereupon Cauchon called in John Grey, the English gen- 
tleman who had charge of the prison, along with two of his 
soldiers, and enjoined them to guard the girl securely and not 
to permit her to talk with any one without the permission of 
the court. Jeanne was then led back to her cell and her irons. 

Now the assessors were not all agreed as to the legality of 
the trial, but they feared what might befall them if they op- 
posed Cauchon, who wielded a great influence with the English. 
One Nicolas de Houppeville of Rouen had spoken his mind 
freely at the preliminary consultation, and now as he presented 
himself to take a seat among the assistant judges the Bishop 
had him thrown into prison. This man had said: 

"I do not see how we can proceed against the prisoner, as we 

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ON TRIAL 

who are opposed to her are acting as judges. Furthermore, she 
has already been examined by the clergy at Poictiers under the 
Archbishop of Reims, who is the metropolitan of the Bishop of 
Beauvais." 

He stated the case with clearness: the Church which had 
acquitted her at Poictiers seemed now to be trying Jeanne for 
the same offense. Cauchon reprimanded the priest sharply, 
and it how took all the influence that could be brought to bear 
upon the matter to keep him from being exiled to England. 
But his misfortune had a salutary effect upon the other asses- 
sors. Henceforth, Cauchon found the majority of them pliant 
to his will. 

There had been so much confusion at the first session, the 
proceedings being much interrupted by shouts and noises from 
outside, that the next morning the sitting was held in a room 
at the end of the great hall of the castle. Again the captive 
was unchained and brought before them — a young girl, alone 
and friendless, before a convocation of trained men, and with- 
out counsel, advocate, or attorney. During the day before she 
had been interrupted at almost every word, and secretaries of 
the English King recorded her replies as they pleased, distort- 
ing her answers as they saw fit. Guillaume Manchon of the 
Cathedral Chapter, chief clerk, threatened to throw up his 
task if this were further permitted, being desirous that the 
records should be correctly kept. Again the Bishop asked 
Jeanne to take the oath without conditions. To which she re- 
plied: 

"I swore yesterday. That ought to suffice. 3 ' 

"Every person," said the Bishop, "though he were a prince, 

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JOAN OF ARC 

being required to swear in any matter relating to the faith, 
cannot refuse." 

"I took the oath yesterday," said she, "that ought to be suffi- 
cient for you. You ask too much of me." 

The contest ended as on the day before by Jeanne taking a 
limited oath. Then Jean Beaupere, a distinguished professor 
in theology, resumed the examination. In all this trial Jeanne 
was the only witness examined. 

He asked about her early life, her trade, her visions, her 
coming to the King, the sign she had shown him, the wearing 
of male attire, and about the fairies of the Tree, and the healing 
properties of the Gooseberry Spring. The questions were 
purposely mixed and confused so as to entrap her into contra- 
dictions. Again and again he returned to the Sign she had 
shown to the King, and this Jeanne could not in loyalty reveal. 
Had it been known that Charles had doubts concerning his 
own right to the throne, it would have been claimed that he 
held the crown on the strength of an assurance from a sorceress. 
This Sign and the wearing of male attire were recurred to time 
after time. The whole judicial process was a succession of 
snares to catch an unsuspecting victim, a constant violation of 
justice and the most established rights. Day after day the 
interrogations continued, and the maiden evinced a courage in 
facing the learned doctors and divines as great as she had ever 
shown in battle. The readiness and beauty of her answers 
often astonished the assembly. They asked her one day: 

"Do you know that you are in the grace of God?" 

This was an unfair question. If she replied, "yes," she was 

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ON TRIAL 

presumptuous; if "no," she condemned herself. One of the 
assessors, Maitre Jean Lefevre, spoke up quickly: 

"That is an unsuitable question for such a girl." 

"Hold your peace," cried Cauchon angrily. "It will be the 
better for you." And Maitre Jean was silent. "Answer," 
commanded the Bishop, turning sternly to Jeanne. 

The assembly awaited the reply in a silence so great that a 
pin might have been heard to fall. 

"If I am not in grace, may God bring me thither; if I am, 
God keep me there." 

The reply was sublime. The doctors were amazed, and 
murmurs were heard among them. "Jeanne, you say well," 
came from several. Cauchon was plainly chagrined. 

At another time she was asked if she had ever been present 
when English blood was shed. 

"In God's name, yes. How mildly you talk! Why did 
they not leave France and go back to their own country?" 

Thereupon a great English lord cried out: "She is a brave 
girl! If only she were English !" 

These public hearings lasted six days, through long weary 
hours, filled with tiresome repetitions, and hidden stratagems 
to catch her unawares. But there had been little progress 
made, so Cauchon brought them to an abrupt close. It was 
high time. As at Poictiers Jeanne's compelling personality 
was beginning to make itself felt. There was a visible soften- 
ing toward her, and one or two of the judges tried to give her 
warnings or to aid her by whispered suggestions. 

In the streets men were whispering that the judges were 

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JOAN OF ARC 

"persecuting her out of perverse vengeance, of which they 
gave every sign; that she was kept in a secular prison against 
the opinion of the court for fear of displeasing the English; 
that the English believed that they could have neither glory 
nor success while she lived." 

There was passing through Rouen one Jean de Lohier, 
who boldly declared that the trial was not valid. ( 1 ) It was 
held in a castle, where men were not at liberty to give their 
free and full opinions. ( 2 ) The honour of the King of France 
was impeached; he was a party in the suit, yet he did not ap- 
pear, and had no representative. (3) The "libel," or accusa- 
tion, had not been given to the Maid, and she had no counsel; 
she was a simple girl, tried in deep matters of faith. To 
Manchon, the clerk, he said: "You see how they are going 
on! They will catch her in her words, as when she says, 'I 
know for certain that I touched the apparitions.' If she said, 
'so it seemed to me,' I think no man could condemn her." 

Cauchon was very angry when these words came to him, and 
Lohier had to fly the country. It was quite time proceedings 
were changed. The Bishop, therefore, chose certain doctors, 
saying that he would not "fatigue all and each of the masters 
who at this moment assist us in such great numbers." He 
told the others that they should be kept informed of the evi- 
dence, which they might study at their leisure, and expressly 
forbade them to leave Rouen before the end of the trial. Then 
with his chosen henchmen he proceeded to make the inquiry 
a private one. 

So Jeanne was deprived of even the brief respite which the 
change from cell to court afforded. The examinations were 

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ON TRIAL 

chiefly repetitions of the interrogations of the public ones, 
though both questions and answers were fuller and freer, but 
were in consequence fatiguing and more trying. 

Asked one day what she meant when she said that Monseig- 
neur Beauvais put himself in danger by bringing her to trial, 
she answered that what she had said to Monseigneur Beauvais 
was: 

"You say that you are my judge. I know not whether you 
are so; but take care that you judge well, or you will put your- 
self in great danger. I warn you, so that if our Lord should 
chastise you for it, I may have done my duty in warning you." 

"What is the danger that may befall him?" 

"I know not. My Voices have told me that I shall be de- 
livered by a great victory." Her thin face was filled with 
sudden radiance. "It may be that judgment may come upon 
him then. And they add: 'Be resigned; have no care for 
your martyrdom; you will come in the end to the Kingdom 
of Paradise.' They have told me this simply, absolutely, and 
without fail. I do not know if I shall have greater suffering 
to bear ; for that I refer me to God." 

It was very plain that the maiden expected to be rescued. 
"Delivered by a great victory" could mean but one thing to 
one so young as she ; so day after day she answered their ques- 
tions in the manner of one who is waiting expectantly for some 
great good to happen. 

As the time passed without bringing either rescue, or help 
of any sort from her friends Jeanne uttered no word that could 
discredit or reproach them. There was never such loyalty as 
hers to her King and her party. A monk, Brother Isambard, 

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JOAN OF ARC 

was moved one day to give her some advice about submitting 
to the General Council of Basle, the Congregation of the Uni- 
versal Church and of Christendom, wherein were men of all 
parties. Jeanne heard of it gladly. 

"Oh! If in that place there are any of our side, I am quite 
willing to submit to the Council of Basle," she cried. 

"Hold your tongue, in the devil's name," shouted Cauchon 
to Isambard. Turning to Manchon, the clerk, he continued 
angrily: "Make no note of that answer." But Jeanne pro- 
tested : 

"You write what is against me, but not what is in my favor." 
Manchon had already written, "And she appeals — " He 
dared write no more. 

In the afternoon Isambard, Brother Guillaume Duval and 
Jean de la Fontaine, three men who honestly wished to aid 
the Maid, went to the prison to give her further advice, when 
Warwick intercepted them. 

"If any of you take the trouble to deliver her and to advise 
her for her good, I will have you thrown into the Seine," he 
told them. 

And Brother Isambard thereafter kept silence in fear of his 
life, while Brother Duval fled to his convent of St. Jacques, and 
appeared no more. The private examinations came to an 
end the day before Passion Sunday, and Cauchon called a 
meeting of the assessors to consider the evidence and decide 
upon further action. D'Estivet, his secretary, was instructed 
to make a digest of the proceedings which should form an 
act of accusation to be submitted to the assessors. The Bishop 
meantime visited Jeanne, offering his ultimatum: 

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ON TRIAL 

If she consented to wear woman's dress, she might hear mass, 
as she had so often desired, but not otherwise. To which 
Jeanne sorrowfully replied; that she would have done so be- 
fore now if she could; but that it was not in her power to do 
so. It was for the sake of her womanhood that she retained 

man's attire. 

In Holy Week her troubles began again. Early Tuesday 
morning of that week Massieu, the usher of the court, appeared 
in the cell, removed her fetters, and conducted her to the room 
at the end of the great hall where the court was held before. 
All the assessors were present, for Cauchon had sent out a 
general summons for them. The case was opened, and 
Cauchon made a prefatory speech in which he told her how 
merciful were her judges, who had no wish to punish, but 
rather to instruct and lead her in the right way. And now, 
at this late stage in the proceedings, he offered her the privilege 
of having as counsel one or more of the learned doctors pres- 
ent. 

Jeanne answered him courteously: 

"In the first place, concerning my good and our faith, I 
thank you and all the company. As for the counsellor you 
offer me, I thank you also, but I have no need to depart from 
our Lord as my counsellor." 

Thomas de Courcelles, a young doctor of the University, 
now began to read the charges against her. The accusations 
were mostly frivolous, and some were unjust. It was charged 
that she had received no religious training; that she had worn 
mandrakes; that she dressed in man's attire; that she had be- 
witched her banner and her ring (this was the poor little ring 

[361] 



JOAN OF ARC 

of base metal which her father and mother had given her so 
long before) ; that she believed her apparitions were saints and 
angels; that she had blasphemed; and other charges to the 
number of seventy. After each one the young doctor paused 
to ask? 

"What have you to say to this article?" 

And Jeanne would reply as she could, referring all her acts 
to the judgment of God. It mattered little how she replied; 
she was foredoomed by these men. For Jeanne D'Arc was 
guilty of one thing: she had deeply wounded the English pride. 
That was her crime. She was a girl, but she had frightened 
them, had driven them half the length of France, taken them 
in their fortresses, and conquered them in the field. That 
was her crime, and it was intolerable. Nothing but burning 
her alive could satisfy the vengeance of pride so mortified. 

This re-examination took several days, and then Jeanne was 
sent back to her cell, but not to peace. While the seventy 
articles and the substance of her replies were being reduced to 
twelve articles by Cauchon and a few picked men, she was 
admonished "gently and charitably" in her cell, in order to 
lead her back into the way of truth and to a sincere profession 
of the faith. 

Jeanne fell ill under the strain. Even her magnificent en- 
durance broke under the burden. She was ill with nausea and 
fever, and Warwick sent immediately for several medical men 
who were among the judges. 

"Do your best for her," he urged. "My King would on 
no account have her die a natural death. He bought her dear, 

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ON TRIAL 

and holds her dear, and she shall die by the law, and be 
burned." 

Thereupon D'Estivet, Cauchon's secretary, escorted the 
leeches to the prison where, weak and in chains, Jeanne lay 
upon her bed. 

"I have eaten a fish that was sent me by the Bishop of 
Beauvais," she told them when the doctors inquired what 
caused the indisposition. "I doubt not that this is the cause of 
my illness." 

"You shameful woman," shouted D'Estivet. "You have 
been eating herring, and other unwholesomeness." * 

"I have not," answered Jeanne, summoning all her strength 
to have it out with him. 

The doctors felt her pulse and found some fever. They 
reported to Earl Warwick that she should be bled. 

"Away with your bleeding," cried he. "She is artful, and 
might kill herself." 

Nevertheless, they bled her and she grew better. As soon 
as she was somewhat recovered Cauchon proceeded with his 
"charitable admonitions." 

"We have come to bring you consolation in your suffering," 
he said. "Wise and learned men have scrutinized your an- 
swers concerning the faith which have seemed to them perilous. 
But you are only a poor, illiterate woman, and we come to 
offer you learned and wise men, watchful and honest, who 
will give you, as is their duty, the knowledge which you have 
not. Take heed to our words, for if you be obstinate, consult- 

i Herring, sprats, shad — in warm countries acquire, probably from their food, 
highly poisonous properties so as to be dangerous to persons eating them. 

[ 363 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

ing only your own unschooled brain, we must abandon you. 
You see to what peril you expose yourself, and it is this we 
would avoid for you with all the power of our affection." 

"I thank you for what you say to me for my good," an- 
swered Jeanne wearily. "It seems to me, seeing how ill I am, 
that I am in great danger of death. If it be that God do 
His pleasure on me, I ask of you that I may have my confes- 
sion and my Saviour also, and that I may be put in holy 
ground." 

"If you desire to have the rites and Sacraments of the 
Church," said Cauchon, "you must do as good Catholics ought 
to do, and submit to Holy Church." 

"I can say no other thing to you," she said, turning from 
them. Then they exhorted her powerfully, citing chapter and 
verse from the Scriptures, telling her finally that if she would 
not obey and submit to the Church she would be abandoned 
as a "Saracen." 

"I am a good Christian," she told them. "I have been 
baptized; I shall die a good Christian. I love God; I serve 
Him. I wish to help and sustain the Church with all my 
power." And that being all they could get from her they left 
her for the time being. 

The sittings in the room at the end of the great hall of the 
castle were resumed on May second, all the assessors being 
present. Cauchon summed up all the trial, saying that in spite 
of the diligence and gentleness of the doctors their efforts had 
produced nothing. It seemed good, therefore, that the woman 
should be admonished before them all. Maitre Jean Chatillon, 
the lord Archdeacon of Evreux, was invited to make the a'd- 

[364] 



ON TRIAL 

dress whereby he might "persuade her to leave the criminal 
path where she now is and return again to that of truth." 

Jeanne listened dutifully to a long preamble by Maitre 
Chatillon, and finally bade her admonisher to come to the point. 

"Read your book, and then I will answer," she said. "I 
refer myself to God, my master in all things. I love Him with 
all my heart." 

The trial was turning upon the point as to whether she was 
willing to submit all her words and deeds to the judgment of 
the holy Mother Church. 

"The Church," she exclaimed. "I love it, and desire to sus- 
tain it with my whole power, for the sake of our Christian 
faith. It is not I who should be hindered from going to church, 
and hearing mass." As to what she had done for her King 
and her country she submitted it all to God, who had sent her. 
The question of submission was again asked, and she replied 
that she submitted all to God, our Lady, and the saints. 

"And my opinion is," she added, "that God and the Church 
are one." 

To Maitre Jean's specific exhortations, touching upon her 
submission to the Church, her dress, her visions, and revelations, 
she gave her old answers. 

"I will say no more," she answered briefly with some impa- 
tience, when they urged her further, and threatened her with 
the sentence of fire. "And if I saw the fire, I should say all 
that I am saying to you, and naught else." 

A week later she was led forth from her cell again, but this 
time she was taken to the torture chamber of the great tower, 
where she found nine of her judges awaiting her, and was once 

[365] 



JOAN OF ARC 

more adjured to speak the truth, with the threat of torture 
if she remained obdurate. But with the rack and screws be- 
fore her, and the executioner ready for his work, she said: 

"Truly, if you were to tear me limb from limb, and separate 
soul from body, I will tell you nothing more; and if I were 
to say anything else, I should always declare that you had 
compelled me to do it by force." 

She told them that she had asked her Voices if, hard pressed 
as she was, she should submit to the Church. 

"If you would have God come to your aid, wait on Him 
for all your doings," was their answer. 

"Shall I burn?" she had asked them. 

"Wait on our Lord. He will help you." 

Torture was spared that day, as being likely to profit her 
little, "considering her hardness of heart," and she was re- 
turned to her cell. Cauchon afterward put the question of 
torture to fourteen of his assessors. Two voted for it: Cour- 
celles, and the spy, Loyseleur, who held that it might be "a 
salutary medicine for her soul." The majority, however, were 
in favor of mercy, considering that there was enough for her 
condemnation without it. 

A few days later the decision of the University of Paris, 
to whom the twelve articles had been sent, arrived. After 
an explanation of the consideration which had been given to 
each article, that learned tribunal gave its verdict upon each 
indictment; concluding with: 

"If the beforesaid woman, charitably exhorted and admon- 
ished by competent judges, does not return spontaneously to 
the Catholic faith, publicly abjure her errors, and give full satis- 

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ON TRIAL 

faction to her judges, she is hereby given up to the secular 
judge to receive the reward of her deeds." 

In accordance with this decision the final session of the court 
was held on the twenty-third of May in a small room near 
Jeanne's cell to hear Maitre Pierre Maurice deliver their final 
admonition to the captive. 

Jeanne listened as always with courtesy to the preacher, 
though he was expounding to her all her faults. All this to a 
girl who had lived with but one motive: the service of God, 
and the deliverance of her country. When he had finished she 
was again questioned personally. Her answer was clear and 
undaunted : 

"What I have always said in the trial, and held, I wish still 
to say and maintain. If I were condemned, if I saw the torch 
lighted, the faggots prepared, and the executioner ready to 
kindle the fire, and if I myself were in the fire, I would not say 
otherwise, and would maintain to the death all that I have 
said." 

And Manchon, the clerk, was so struck by this reply that he 
wrote on the margin of his paper: "Responsio Johannae 
superba." 

"Have you nothing further to say?" asked Cauchon of 
promoter and prisoner. 

"No ;" was the reply, and he declared the trial concluded. 

"We summon you to-morrow to hear the law which will be 
laid down by us, to be carried out afterward and proceeded 
with according to law and right." 

Jeanne was led back to her prison and the company of John 
Grey's men. It was the twenty-third of May, and she had 

[367] 



J 



JOAN OF ARC 

been a prisoner a year. A year, and for nearly five months of 
that time she had been chained and ironed like a wild beast. 
Through almost four months of it she had been tortured, 
badgered, and bullied through the most cruel and unjust trial 
the world has ever known. And she had faced this daily tor- 
ment with high spirit and undaunted mien. But she was 
weary, and worn, and the despondency that follows a period 
of high exaltation came upon her. Her Voices had promised 
"deliverance by a great victory," and deliverance had not come. 
The next day there would be the sentence, and death by fire. 
All night the girl lay in her chains striving to commune with 
her saintly visitors, but her guards were noisy, and she could 
catch but little of what they were saying: 

"Answer boldly all that is said to you," they told her. "God 
will help you. Fear naught." 

The morning came, and found her listless, sad, and inex- 
pressibly weary. The false Loyseleur was on hand early, 
urging her to submit to the Church. 

"Do all that you are told, and you may be saved," he said 
to her. "Accept the woman's dress, and do as I tell you; 
then you will be given over to the Church. Otherwise you are 
in peril of death." 

Came also Jean Beaupere, one of the assessors. 

"You will soon be led to the scaffold to be preached to," he 
said. "If you are a good Christian place all your deeds and 
words in the ordering of our Holy Mother Church, and espe- 
cially of the ecclesiastical judges." 

So they talked to her. Presently the cart came that was to 
carry her to the cemetery of St. Ouen, which was to be the 

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ON TRIAL 

place of her sentence. Loyseleur, Massieu and a number of 
the priests rode with her, exhorting, explaining, and pleading 
with her to submit. They drove through the marketplace that 
she might see the preparations that had been made for the 
execution of the sentence should she persist in her obduracy. 
Jeanne was not spared one pang. A lofty scaffold with a 
stake upon it, the logs all arranged ready for the lighting, stood 
in the midst of the marketplace waiting for its victim. 

It was a beautiful day in May. The blue sky had not one 
cloud to mar its cerulean depths. The streets were filled with 
crowds of excited people who pushed and struggled behind 
the rows of erect English soldiers who guarded the passage of 
the tumbril to the place of sentence: all speaking of life, life 
and liberty. And beside Loyseleur was whispering, "Sub- 
mit! Submit!" 

Before the stately church of St. Ouen there was an open 
space that afforded room for a large assemblage of people. 
Here were erected two platforms, one facing the other. On 
one of these, in the midst of prelates and nobles, Cardinal 
Winchester sat with the Bishop of Beauvais and the Earl of 
Warwick; on the other was the preacher, Maitre Guillaume 
Erad, for it was usual to preach to a witch before burning 
her. Here also stood Jeanne, and the priests who had accom- 
panied her. Below and all around were a vast concourse of 
people, and many soldiers. 

When all were in their places the preacher arose, and began 
his sermon: "A branch cannot bear fruit of itself except it 
abide in the vine." It was long and eloquent. When it was 
half over he suddenly began to apostrophise France and her 

[369] 



JOAN OF ARC 

King: "Ah, France! thou art much abused; thou hast always 
been the most Christian of nations, and Charles, who calls him- 
self thy king and governor, hath joined himself, a heretic and 
schismatic, which he is, to the words and deeds of a worthless 
woman, defamed and full of dishonour; and not only he but 
all the clergy within his jurisdiction and lordship by whom 
she hath been examined and not reproved, as she hath said." 
Then pointing at the Maid, he cried: "It is to thee, Jeanne, 
that I speak. I tell thee that thy king is a heretic and schis- 
matic." 

Jeanne could bear, and had borne much; but she could not 
stand an assault upon her King. Clearly her voice rang out 
as it had been wont to do on field of battle: 

"By my faith, sire, saving your respect, I swear upon my 
life that my King is the most noble Christian of all Christians, 
that he is not what you say." 

So she spoke, defending the craven who had made no effort in 
her behalf. There was a sensation among the people as she 
made her cry; a stir as though moved in spite of themselves, 
and voices began to murmur excitedly. At this the English 
soldiers who surrounded the two platforms in a close ring drew 
closer, and made threatening gestures toward the crowd which 
silenced them. The preacher resumed his sermon, which he 
concluded with a last solemn exhortation to the prisoner to 
yield submission to the Church. 

As her Voices had bade her do, Jeanne replied to the preach- 
er's words boldly: "I have told you Doctors that all my deeds 
and words should be sent to Rome to our Holy Father, the 

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ON TRIAL 

Pope, to whom, and to God first, I appeal. As for my deeds, 
I burden no man with them, neither my King nor any other. 
If fault there be, it is my own and no other's." 

Three times she was asked if she was willing to renounce 
those of her acts and words which the court condemned. To 
which she replied only : 

"I appeal to God, and to our Holy Father, the Pope." 

She was told that the Pope was too far away, and that the 
Ordinaries were judges each in his own diocese, and that it was 
necessary that she should confess that the clergy and officers 
of the Church had a right to determine in her case. Then the 
Bishop began to read her sentence. He had prepared two: 
one in case she recanted; the other, the death by fire. It was 
this latter that he now began to pronounce. And all around 
the maiden there broke forth a tumult of voices urging her to 
submit. Some among the crowd dared to call to her entreat- 
ingly: 

"Submit, Jeanne, submit. Save yourself." 

Almost distracted, the girl folded her hands, and raised her 
eyes. "St. Michael, help," she called pleadingly. Her Voices 
were speaking, but in the confusion she could not hear, but 
about her sounded those others: "Submit! Submit! Why 
will you burn?" 

There is a limit to human endurance. Through months the 
girl had preserved a clear mind that had guided her through 
the tortuous intricacies of the snares that treacherous legality 
and perverted ingenuity could devise for her; she had been 
loyal, in despite of all perils, to her belief in her mission, to 

[371] 



JOAN OF ARC 

her faith in her Voices, to her duty to her King: but now — the 
indomitable spirit broke under the strain. She could bear no 
more. 

"I submit," she cried in anguish. "I am willing to hold all 
that the Church ordains, all that you judges shall say and pro- 
nounce. I will obey your orders in everything. Since the 
men of the Church decide that my apparitions and revelations 
are neither sustainable nor credible, I do not wish to believe 
or to sustain them. I yield in everything to you, and to our 
Holy Mother Church." 

"Then sign," cried a churchman, thrusting forward a paper. 
"Sign, and so abjure." 

The girl looked at him, bewildered and confused by the com- 
motion about her. 

"Abjure?" she said. "What is abjure? 

Massieu, who had been among those who conducted her 
thither, now began to explain. "Sign," he said, "Sign." 

"Sign," cried Erad, the preacher. "Sign, and you will be 
put in charge of the Church." 

Jeanne could not write, but she mechanically made her mark, 
placing it where they told her. Then one of them guiding her 
hand, traced the name, Jehanne, at the bottom of the page. 
Jeanne gave one last cry as she permitted it: 

"All that I did was done for good, and it was well to do 
it." 

And Manchon, the clerk, wrote on the margin of his record, 
"And Jeanne in fear of the fire said that she would obey the 
Church." 

This done Cauchon substituted the other sentence : 

[372] 



ON TRIAL 

"Seeing that thou hast returned to the bosom of the Church 
by the grace of God, and hast revoked and denied all thy errors, 
we, the Bishop aforesaid, commit thee to perpetual prison, with 
the bread of sorrow and water of anguish, to purge thy soul by 
solitary penitence." 

A tumult arose in the square at this, and stones were thrown 
amid cries of disappointment and rage ; for the English feared 
that they were to be cheated of their prey, and many were 
angered that there was to be no burning. In the midst of it, 
Jeanne called feverishly to the priests about her: 

"Now, you people of the Church, lead me to your prison; 
let me be no longer in the hands of the English." 

One of the priests left her side, and ran over to Cauchon to 
ask where she was to be taken. 

"Back whence she came," said Cauchon grimly. 

Dismayed, miserable beyond words, Jeanne was taken back 
to the irons, and the unspeakable torment of her awful cell. 



[373] 




CHAPTER XXVII 

For Her Country 

"There was grandeur m that peasant girl, — in her 
exalted faith at Domremy, in her heroism, at Orleans, in 
her triumph at Reims, in her trial and martyrdom at 
Rouen. But unless she had suffered, nothing would have 
remained of this grandeur in the eyes of posterity." 
Lord. "Great Women" in "Beacon Lights of History" 

IN the afternoon the Duchess of Bedford sent a tailor to 
Jeanne with a woman's dress. She put it on without a 
word, allowed her hair to be dressed in feminine fashion, 
and to be covered by a coif. Courcelles, Loyseleur, Isambard 
and other priests also visited her, telling her of the great pity 
and mercy of the churchmen, and warning her that should she 
return to her errors the Church must abandon her. And so 
at last they left her. 

Left her to her thoughts and her conscience which now began 
to trouble her. For in that moment of recantation Jeanne 
had been false to the highest that was in her: the Voice of God 
speaking in her heart which was higher than the Church. 

[374] 



FOR HER COUNTRY 

"I have sinned," she cried in anguish. "I have sinned griev- 
ously." And piteously she invoked her Saints. 

In the meantime life in that cell was a horror of which it is 
well not to think. She was supposed now to be under the 
gentle ministrations of the Church, but she was still a captive, 
shorn, degraded, hopeless, lacerated by fetters, and weighed 
down by heavy chains; for even at night when she lay on 
her bed her feet were in irons, with couples fastened to a chain, 
and attached by a log to a great beam of wood. Cauchon 
had been given to understand that the English would not be 
content with "perpetual imprisonment on bread of anguish 
and water of affliction" for this captive. The girl must burn, 
but now this could not be done unless she relapsed. Relapse 
she must, willingly or unwillingly. A word to John Grey's 
yarlets would help matters, and the word was given. 

It was on Thursday, May twenty-fourth, that Jeanne re- 
canted, and took the woman's dress. On Sunday following she 
awoke to find that her feminine attire had been taken from her 
while she slept, and on her bed lay the old page's suit of black. 

"Sirs," she said protestingly in her gentle voice, "this dress is 
forbidden me. Give me the woman's dress, I pray you." 

The guards refused, laughing. Jeanne knew what the end 
would be now, but she accepted her fate calmly. The tidings 
flew that by this act she had revoked her abjuration. Monday 
word was sent to Cauchon and his acolytes, who flocked at 
once to the castle. They found the girl overborne with grief, 
her face tear-stained and disfigured; the hearts of some of them 
were moved to compassion. 

"Why have you done this?" demanded Cauchon. 

1875] 



JOAN OF ARC 

"It is more suitable for me to wear it, being among men," 
said the Maid, taking the blame of the whole matter. "I have 
resumed it because the promise to me has not been kept; that is 
to say, that I should go to mass and should receive my Saviour, 
and that I should be taken out of irons." 

"Did you not promise and swear not to resume the dress 
of a man?" 

"No; I am not aware that I took any such oath. I would 
rather die than be in irons. But if you will release me from 
these irons, and let me go to mass, and he in gentle prison, I 
will be good and do as the Church desires." 

"Since last Thursday have you heard your Voices?" asked 
the Bishop, wishing to find some basis for the charge of "re- 
lapse." 

"Yes ;" Jeanne's sad face brightened at once. 

"What did they say to you?" 

"God made known to me by Saint Catherine and Saint 
Margaret the great pity there was for the treason to which 
I consented by making revocation and abjuration in order to 
save my life. I have condemned myself that my life might be 
saved. On Thursday my Voices told me to answer that 
preacher boldly, and he was a false preacher, who preached. 
He accused me of many things that I never did. If I said that 
God did not send me, I should condemn myself, for God did 
send me. My Voices have told me that I committed sin in 
declaring that what I had done was wrong. All that I said and 
revoked, I said for fear of the fire." 

And Manchon, the clerk, wrote on the margin of his record: 
"Responsio mortifera." "The answer that caused her death." 

[376] 



FOR HER COUNTRY 

"Do you believe that your Voices are St. Margaret and St. 
Catherine?" 

"Yes, I do believe it," she cried gladly. "And I believe 
that they come from God. I would rather do penance once 
for all; that is to say, in dying, than endure any longer the 
misery of a prison. I have done nothing against God and 
the faith, in spite of all they have made me revoke. What 
was in the schedule of abjuration I did not understand. I did 
not intend to revoke anything except according to our Lord's 
pleasure. If the judges will have me do so, I will resume 
woman's dress ; for the rest, I can do no more." 

It was enough. She had relapsed, and the will of her 
enemies could now be accomplished. The next day Cauchon 
assembled his assessors in the chapel of his house, the palace 
of the Archbishop of Rouen. They all agreed that Jeanne 
must be handed over to the secular arm of the Church, praying 
that it "might deal gently with her." If she showed signs of 
sincere penitence, she was to be allowed to receive the sacra- 
ment of confession so long denied to her. Then the Maid was 
cited to appear the next morning at eight o'clock in the Old 
Market Place, "in order that she may be declared relapsed, 
excommunicate, and heretic, and that it may be done to her as 
is customary in such cases." 

Very early on Wednesday morning, May the thirtieth, 
Brother Martin Ladvenu went to the cell to tell the Maid of 
her approaching death, and "to lead her to true contrition and 
repentance, and also to hear her confession." 

Terrified and trembling, Jeanne received the announcement 
with bitter weeping; her heart failing before the imminence 

[377] 



JOAN OF AUG 

of the stake. She was but a girl, and it was a terrible ordeal 
that lay before her. What wonder that she wept? 

"Alas!" she cried, "will they treat me so horribly and 
cruelly, and must my body, which has never been corrupted, be 
burned to ashes to-day I Ah! I would far rather be beheaded 
seven times than burned. Had I been in the prison of the 
Church, to which I submitted, and been guarded by church- 
folk, and not by my enemies and adversaries, this would never 
have befallen me. Oh, I appeal before God, the great Judge, 
against these wrongs that they do me." 

In the midst of the girl's outburst, Cauchon entered the cell. 
She turned upon him quickly. 

"Bishop, I die through you." 

"Ah, Jeanne, be patient. You die because you have not 
kept your promise, but have returned to errors." 

"If you had put me in the Church's prison, and given me 
women for keepers, this would not have happened. For this I 
summon you before God." 

"Now then, Jeanne, did not your Voices promise you de- 
liverance?" 

"Yes;" she admitted sadly. 

"Then you must perceive that they are evil and come not 
from God. Had this not been true they would not have de- 
ceived you." 

"I see that I have been deceived," she said. They had said, 
"Take all things peacefully: heed not this martyrdom. Thou 
shalt come at last into the Kingdom of Paradise." They had 
spoken also of deliverance by a great victory, but Jeanne mis- 
understood the message. So now she said sadly, "I see that I 

[378] 



FOR HER COUNTRY 

have been deceived. But," she added, "be they good spirits or 
bad spirits, they really appeared to me." 

And now she was allowed to receive the Sacraments, for 
this would be proof that the Maid had again recanted. The 
sacrament was brought irreverently, without stole or candles, so 
that Ladvenu remonstrated indignantly, not being willing to 
administer a diminished rite. And at his request the Host 
was sent with a train of priests chanting litanies as they went 
through the streets with torches burning. 

Without the prison in the courtyard, in the streets, every- 
where in the city the people gathered to pray for her, their 
hearts touched with pity at her sad fate. 

The maiden received the Sacrament with tears and devotion, 
the churchmen expounding views and exhorting her during all 
the time that it was administered. Pierre Maurice spoke 
kindly to her at its close. 

"Ah, Sieur Pierre," she said, "where shall I be to-night?" 

"Have you not good faith in the Lord?" he asked. 

"Yes," she answered. "God helping me I shall be in Para- 
dise." 

Dressed in the long black robe that the victims of the In- 
quisition wore, with a mitre set on her head, bearing the in- 
scription: "Heretic, Relapsed, Apostate, Idolator," she was 
led for the last time out through the corridor and down the 
steps to the cart which was waiting to cany her to the place 
of doom. Isambard, Massieu, the usher of the court, both 
her friends, accompanied her. As the cart, escorted by one 
hundred and twenty English men-at-arms, started, a man 
pushed his way through them, and flung himself weeping at 

[S79] 



JOAN OF ARC 

Jeanne's feet. It was Loyseleur, the spy, who now implored 
her pardon. Jeanne forgave him, and the guards, who would 
have killed him but for the intervention of Warwick, drove 
him away. 

The streets, the windows and balconies of the houses, every 
place where a foothold could be had, were crowded with peo- 
ple who wished to get a good view of the Maid on her last 
journey. Many secretly sympathised with her, but dared not 
show it for fear of their English masters. 

Three scaffolds had been erected in the Old Market Place: 
one for the high ecclesiastics and the great English lords ; one 
for the accused and her preacher, — for Jeanne was not allowed 
to go to her doom without another exhortation; while in the 
middle of the square a wooden platform stood on a mass of 
plaster with a great beam rising perpendicularly from it. At 
the foot of this innumerable faggots of wood were piled. The 
pile was purposely built high so that the executioner could 
not shorten her sufferings, as was often done. A placard was 
set over the mass of plaster and faggots with the words, 
"Jeanne, self-styled the Maid, liar, mischief-maker, abuser of 
the people, diviner, superstitious, blasphemer of God, presump- 
tuous, false to the faith of Christ, boaster, idolater, cruel, dis- 
solute, an invoker of devils, apostate, schismatic, heretic." 

A large number of soldiers ranged around the square keep- 
ing back the turbulent crowd who pressed upon them. Openly 
these soldiers rejoiced as the cart that contained the Warrior 
Maid was driven into the square. Soon the Witch who had 
humbled the pride of England would be done to death. The 
victor of Orleans and Patay would ride no more. An humbled 

[380] 



FOR HER COUNTRY 

France would soon be prostrate before the might of England. 
Jeanne looked on all that sea of faces, some sympathetic, others 
openly exultant, with brimming eyes. 

"Rouen! Rouen!" she cried wonderingly; "and am I to die 
here?" 

A silence fell upon the multitude as the Maid took her place 
upon the platform with the preacher, Nicholas Midi, and he 
began his sermon from the text. "If any of the members 
suffer, all the other members suffer with it." 

Jeanne sat quietly through the sermon, her hands folded in 
her lap, praying silently. After a flood of invective the 
preacher closed his sermon and bade her, "Go in peace." 

When the words that flung her from the communion of the 
Holy Church ended Pierre Cauchon rose, and once more ex- 
horted her, heaping a shower of abuse upon her helpless head, 
and so delivered her to the secular arm of the Church, with the 
words : 

"We give you over to the secular power, entreating it to 
moderate its sentence and spare you pain of death and mutila- 
tion of limb." 

A great hush of awe fell upon the people that was broken 
presently by a sweet, girlish voice, broken by sobs, as Jeanne 
knelt upon the platform, and offered up her last supplication. 

She invoked the blessed Trinity, the blessed Virgin Mary, 
and all the saints of Paradise. She called pleadingly upon her 
own St. Michael for help and to aid her "in devotion, lamenta- 
tion, and true confession of faith." Very humbly she begged 
forgiveness of all men whether of her party or the other. She 
asked the priests present to say a mass for her soul, and all 

[381 ] 



JOAN OF ARC 

whom she might have offended to forgive her, and declared 
that what she had done, good or bad, she alone was to answer. 

And as she knelt, weeping and praying, the entire crowd, 
touched to the heart, broke into a burst of weeping and 
lamentation. Winchester wept, and the judges wept. Pierre 
Cauchon was overwhelmed with emotion. Here and there an 
English soldier laughed, and suddenly a hoarse voice cried: 

"You priests, are you going to keep us here all day?" 

Without any formal sentence, the Bailiff of Rouen waved his 
hand, saying, "Away with her.'* 

Jeanne was seized roughly by the soldiers and dragged to 
the steps of the stake. There she asked for a cross. One of 
the English soldiers who kept the way took a piece of staff, 
broke it across his knees in unequal parts, and, binding them 
hurriedly together, handed to her. She thanked him brokenly, 
took it, and kissing it pressed it against her bosom. She then 
prayed Massieu to bring a cross from the church that she might 
look upon it through the smoke. 

From the church of Saint Saviour a tall cross was brought, 
and Brother Isambard held it before her to the end; for she said: 

"Hold it high before me until the moment of death, that the 
cross on which God is hanging may be continually before my 
eyes." 

Then bravely as she had climbed the scaling ladders at Or- 
leans and Jargeau the Maid ascended the steps of the scaffold 
to the stake. The good priest, Isambard, accompanied her 
with words of consolation. As she was being bound to the 
stake she looked her last upon the towers and hills of the fair 
city, and again the cry escaped her lips : 

[ 382 ] 



FOR HER COUNTRY 

"Ah, Rouen! I greatly fear that you shall suffer for my 
death." 

Cauchon, hoping that now some word of denouncement 
against her King might be uttered, came to the foot of the scaf- 
fold; once again she cried to him: 

"Bishop, I die through you." 

Only once did her spirit falter. When the executioner ap- 
plied the torch to the faggots, and a dense volume of smoke 
rolled up she gasped, 

"Water, holy water!" 

Then, in quick forgetfulness of self, for Brother Isambard 
still remained with her, though the pitiless flames had already 
begun to ascend — she bade him go down lest the fire should 
catch his robes. And so at last she was left alone. 

[Upward leaped the red flames, eager for their prey ; upward 
curled the dense, suffocating smoke; the air quivered and 
whirled with red, stifling heat ; and suddenly, from out of that 
fiery, awful furnace, there came the clarion tones of the Maid, 
clear as on the battle field, exultant with the triumph of a great 
victory : 

"My Voices were from God! They have not deceived me! 
Jesus ! Jesus !" 

And so died the Maid; a martyr, not for religion, but for her 
country. She died, but the lesson of her life lives on : faith and 
work ; for by these two may marvels be wrought and the destiny 
of nations changed. 

"The men-at-arms will fight; God will give the victory." 



[383] 



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CHAPTER XXVIII 

At Domremy 

"To owr JBTofo/ Father, the Pope, to whom, cmd to God 
first, I appeal." 

Jeanne's own words in the Sqmre of St. Ouen. 

THERE were many signs and wonders told of the execu- 
tion after Jeanne's death. It was said that a dove was 
seen to fly upward toward Heaven at the moment that 
her spirit took its flight; that the executioner later in the day 
went weeping to Friar Isambard, confessing that he was lost, 
for he had burnt a saint ; that an English soldier who had sworn 
to light a faggot on the pyre had fallen in a swoon as he threw 
the burning brand; that her heart, that great heart that beat 
only for France, was not consumed by the flame: these and 
many other things were told. The truth of the matter was that 
even her enemies were not easy in their minds about her death. 
There was more than a suspicion that what she had said might 
be true : that she was sent from God. 

The news of her death swept over France, bringing grief and 
consternation to those who loved her, and satisfaction to those 
that feared. 

[384] 



AT DOMREMY 

In the afternoon of a gracious day in June, some two weeks 
after the tragedy at Rouen, two young women might have been 
seen coming through the forest down the hill path beyond 
Greux from the Chapel of Our Lady of Bermont. It was 
Saturday, the Holy Virgin's day, and the two had been to 
make their orisons at the shrine. But though the Valley of 
Colours had never seemed so lovely, so flowery, so fragrant 
as it did on this golden afternoon, a young matron and her 
maiden companion, the two, walked in silence and with lagging 
steps through the tangle of vines and grasses that grew along 
the pathway. 

"It is more than two years since Jeanne went away," spoke 
the younger one suddenly, voicing the name that was in both 
their hearts. "Oh, Mengette, it grieves me to think of her 
shut up in a gloomy dungeon when she loved the fields so." 

"Yes, Hauviette. And how strange it is that Jeanne D Arc, 
who was always so good and pious, is up before the Church 
charged with heresy. Jeanne a heretic? Pouf! The very 
idea of such a thing!" Mengette laughed scornfully, then 
caught her breath with a sob. "To think of it, when she loves 
the Church so. It's my belief that those who try her are the 
heretics." 

"Mengette, if any one should hear you!" Hauviette cast 
a fearful glance about her. "It would go hard with you." 

"I care not who hears me," declared Mengette with a toss 
of her head. "Have we not boldly told all who came to Dom- 
remy to inquire concerning her of her goodness and purity? 
Ay ! even though they were Burgundians or English they were 
told the truth though some of them would fain have heard 

[385] 



JOAN OF ARC 

otherwise. Beside, should any chance to hear me, Robert, my 
husband, would not let harm come to me." 

In spite of her sadness Hauviette could not repress a smile. 
Mengette had been married two years, and her belief in her 
husband's all powerfulness had become a proverb in the village. 
But the maiden only remarked: 

"I would that we could hear how it fares with Jeanne. It 
is a long trial." She sighed. 

"Yes." Mengette sighed also, and silence fell once more 
between them. Long before Domremy had heard that Jeanne 
was held in durance, and at length that she was on trial before 
the learned men of the University. All feared for the result, 
for what chance would a peasant maid stand with such wise 
men? 

Down the hillside path, through Greux, and on through the 
Bois Chesnu went the two friends, until presently they emerged 
into the clearing where stood the Fairy Tree in solitary 
grandeur. With one accord they paused under its spreading 
branches. 

"The commissioners from Rouen were so curious about the 
tree," commented Mengette, glancing up at it lovingly. "So 
many questions did they ask concerning it, and the Gooseberry 
Spring. And, Hauviette, did Isabeau tell you that they 
wanted to know whether Jeanne ever carried a mandrake?" 

"Yes, she told me," answered Hauviette. "As though 
Jeanne would do such a thing! Look, Mengette!" she broke 
off suddenly. "Something has happened, for the people are 
running all about the streets of the village." 

"And the most of them are going toward the D'Arc house," 

[386] 



AT DOMREMY 

cried Mengette excitedly. "There must be news of Jeanne. 
Let us hurry, Hauviette." 

Quickly the intervening space between the forest and the 
village was passed, and Jeanne's two friends soon entered the 
dooryard of the cottage. Colin de Greux left the crowd of 
villagers who clustered about the yard talking in low tones, and 
came to meet them. 

"There is news," he told them in trembling accents. "It is 
all over. Poor Jeanne!" He paused abruptly, and covered 
his face with his hands. 

"What do you mean, Colin?" cried Mengette, while Hauvi- 
ette grew white, and clasping her hands over her heart stood 
waiting the answer with bated breath. "Is she— is she dead?" 
Colin nodded. "Burned," he said briefly. "As a heretic 
and a sorceress. The Cure has just received word." 

"Oh," gasped Mengette. "It can't be true; it can't be!" 
But Hauviette could not speak. More than the others had 
she loved Jeanne. 

"Yes ; it's true," affirmed Colin with emotion. "And to think 
that I teased her so. And made her go to Toul, and, and—" 
His voice broke. 

At this Hauviette recovered herself a little, and laid her 
hand softly on his arm. 

"She forgave that, Colin, I know," she said comfortingly. 
"Jeanne would harbour naught against you." 

"I know," he said. "For when she left Domremy for Vau- 
couleurs she stopped as she passed through Greux, and said: 
'I go to Vaucouleurs, Colin. God give you good fortune.' 
And He has," continued the young man, "for I have prospered 

[387] 



JOAN OF ARC 

beyond any other in the village. 'Tis as though her mere wish 
had brought it to pass." 

"Perhaps it did/' said the maiden gently, finding comfort 
for her own grief in consoling him. "But see! Mengette 
has gone to Jacques and Isabeau. Let us go also, that we may 
comfort them. Jeanne would like us to do that." 

"You are like her," he said, looking up at her suddenly, and 
taking the little hand that lay so lightly upon his sleeve. "You 
think of others before yourself. Yes; let us go to them." 

Hand in hand they made their way through the sorrowing 
people into the cottage. Jacques D'Arc lay upon the open 
cupboard bed, completely prostrated by grief, and Isabeau bent 
over him, ministering to him in woe too deep for tears. Be- 
side them stood the good Cure, the tears flowing unrestrainedly 
down his cheeks. 

"Grieve not," he said. "I believe that the child went straight 
into Paradise. I confessed her too often not to know that she 
was pure as a lily flower. In Paradise she dwells beyond all 
trouble. We who are left behind must not grieve. You have 
other children left you. Jean and Pierre are held to ransom, 
and they will soon return." 

And so he tried to comfort them, but for some griefs there 
is no consolation. Jacques D'Arc's was one for which there 
was no cure. His heart broke under its weight of anguish, and 
a few days thereafter he died. 

Some time later Pierre and Jean returned to their mother, 
and took her with them to Orleans, where she resided the rest 
of her long life, the recipient of many honours from the city 
that did not forget its Maid. Twenty years later there came 

[888] 



AT DOMREMY 

a day when the long dormant manhood of Charles Seventh was 
stirred to action, and he was minded to make amends to the 
memory of her who had done so much for him. At his instiga- 
tion Isabeau carried her daughter's appeal to Rome. 

"I have told your doctors that all my deeds and words should 
be sent to Rome to our Holy Father, the Pope, to whom, and 
to God first, I appeal," Jeanne had cried on the platform at St. 
Ouen on the day of her abjuration. She had been told then 
that the Pope was too far off ; so now Isabeau carried that ap- 
peal to him, asking for justice to be done to her daughter's 
memory. 

The case was reopened, witnesses examined, even some of 
the assessors who had sat with Cauchon testifying in her favour, 
and Jeanne's name was cleared by the Church of every charge 
against her. Thankful that her child would no longer rest 
under the ban«of the Church she loved so well, Isabeau returned 
to Orleans, and spent the remainder of her days in peace. 

In peace, for at last the land was cleared of the English and 
only at Calais had the invader a foothold, and Charles dwelt in 
his own capitol at Paris. All of Jeanne's prophecies had come 
to pass. 

Jean, her brother, was made captain of Vaucouleurs when 
bluff old Robert de Baudricourt was gathered to his fathers. 
Pierre married, and lived with his wife and mother at Orleans. 
Both brothers took the name of Du Lys, which the King had 
conferred upon them through Jeanne, and were ranked among 
the nobility, honoured and revered for the sake of one who 
coveted no honour save that of serving her country — plain 
Jeanne D'Arc. 

THE END 



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